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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


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A  VOCATIONAL  READER 


OTHER  VOCATIONAL 
GUIDANCE  BOOKS 

J.  ADAMS  PUFFER,  Editor 

Vocational  Guidance — The 
Teacher  as  a  Covinselor. 
By  J.  Adams  Puffer. 

\^ocationaI  Guidance  for  the 
Professions.  By  Edwin 
Tenney  Brewster. 

Vocational  Guidance  for  Girls. 
By  Marguerite  Stockman 
Dickson.    [In  preparation.] 


A  Vocational  Reader 


By 

PARK  PRESSEY 


With  an  Introduction  by 

J.  ADAMS  PUFFER 


'  \  > 


'3'   ,  ',  ,  s 


RAND  McNALLY  &  COMPANY 

CHICAGO  .  NEW  YORK 

1485G4 


Copyright,  iqi6 
By  Rand  McXally  &  Company 


•    •   « *  • 


..  .  .  •:  :  •  '  \\- 

V-.:.v.   .:;■::   •  «-.  1 


THE   CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Introduction 7 

A  cknowledgments 8 

The  Preface 9 

VOCATION 

The  Men   of  To-Morrow Dan  Beard 13 

A  Message'  to  Garcia Elbert  Hubbard 15 

Pitcher,    Shortstop,    or    Out- 
Fielder?.  .  .  .^ Elbridge  B.  Lincoln 20 

To  Labor ••  Charlotte  Perkins  Gilman ....  25 

OUT-OF-DOOR   OCCUPATIONS 

The  New  American  Farmer.  .  .//cz-fec/-/  N.  Casson  (Adapted)  29 

Farmer  John John  T.  Trowbridge 35 

The  Average  Man Joseph  E.  Wing  (Adapted)  .  .  37 

The  Corn  Song John  G.  Whittier 41 

With  a  Forestry  Crew John  Clair  Minot 43 

The  Boy  Who  Was   "Differ- 
ent " Walter  E.  A  ndrews 49 

How   John    Muir    Became    an 

Explorer Adapted 61 

The  Man  Who  Named  Mount 

Whitney Edwin  T.  Brewster 66 

Trapped  by  the  Wire Albert  W.  Tolman 74 

BUSINESS 

Promotion  in  Business George  H.  Lorimer 87 

When  a  Feller   Is  Out  of  a 

Job Sam  Walter  Foss 87 

The  Making  of  a  Merchant  .Harlow  N.  Higinbotham 89 

The    Battle    of    the    Rubber 

Bands Adapted 92 

John    Hancock:    Merchant.  .  .Park  Pressey 94 

How  Cyrus  Laid  the  Cable  .  .  John  G.  Saxe 107 

The  Carpenter  Who  Founded 

A  University Adapted no 


6  The  Contents 

MECHANICS 

PAGE 

Cowboys  of  the  Skies Ernest  Poole 119 

Benjamin  Franklin:  Printer.  .Par^  Pressey 127 

The  Printer's  Song J.  C.  Prince 139 

Paul  Revere:  Goldsmith Park  Pressey 140 

The  Song  of  Steam G.  W.  Cutter 149 

The     Man     Who     Cheapened 

Tacks Adapted 1 52 

The  Story  of  the  Heavy-Gun 

Pointer George  Flint 157 

The  Freight  Train Cy  Warman 161 

When  Young  Wits  Clashed..  .Frederick  M.  Holmes 162 

Lines    on    the    Death    of    a 

Worthy    Shoemaker Ed  Mott 170 

The  Value  of  Home  Training  W.  N.  Ferris 171 

HOME-MAKING 

Sally  Patton's  Quiet  Day Frances  Margaret  Fox 175 

The  Housewife  Who  Built  a 

Telescope Edwin  T.  Brewster 181 

A    Business    Woman    in    Her 

Home    Edith  Tenney 187 

The  Mother Robert  Louis  Stevenson 188 

The    "Girl    President"    of 

Wellesley Adapted 191 

THE   PROFESSIONS 

The  Return  of  Rhoda Susan  Glaspell 201 

Preparing  to  Be  a  Teacher.  .  .Karl  W.  Gehrkens 211 

The  Country  Lawyer  in  Na- 
tional Affairs Grover  Cleveland 216 

How     I     Became     a     District 

Nurse Lilian  Dodge 222 

Where  Mark  Twain  Got  His 

Stories Edwin  T.  Brewster 228 

CONCLUSION 

The  Flag  Makers Franklin  K.  Lane 239 

Business Sam  Walter  Foss 242 


THE   INTRODUCTION 

To  be  true  to  American  ideals  every  youth  must 
select  his  own  vocation  and  be  responsible  for 
making  his  own  career.  In  harmony  with  this 
principle  one  of  the  safe  and  sane  methods  of 
Vocational  Giiidance  is  to  expose  each  boy  and  girl 
to  the  largest  possible  number  of  temptations  to  a 
good  life-work.  Without  being  didactic  Mr.  Pressey 
has  made  an  interesting  pioneer  book  in  this  field. 

J.  Adams  Puffer 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

Thanks  are  due  for  the  use  of  selections  in  this  book 
as  follows: 

Forbes  &  Co.  for  "The  Making  of  a  Merchant," 
from  The  Making  of  a  Merchant  by  Harlow  N.  Higin- 
botham;  Small,  Maynard  &  Co.  for  "To  Labor"  from 
In  This  Our  World  by  Charlotte  Perkins  Oilman;  Elbert 
Hubbard  for  "The  Message  to  Garcia";  The  Review  of 
Reviews  for  "The  New  American  Farmer"  by  Herbert 
N.  Casson;  The  New  York  Sun  and  Ed  Mott  for  "Lines 
on  the  Death  of  a  Worthy  Shoemaker";  Everybody's 
Magazine  for  "Cowboys  of  the  Skies"  by  Ernest  Poole; 
The  Breeder's  Gazette,  Chicago,  for  "The  Average  Man" 
by  Joseph  E.  Wing;  Lothrop,  Lee  &  Shepard  for  "When 
a  Feller  is  Out  of  a  Job"  from  Dreams  in  Homespun  by 
Sam  Walter  Foss  and  "Business"  from  Songs  of  the 
Average  Man  by  Sam  Walter  Foss  (copyright  1907, 
used  by  special  permission);  The  Beacon  for  "When 
Young  Wits  Clashed"  by  Frederick  M.  Holmes;  The 
Youth's  Companion  and  the  authors  for  the  following: 
"With  a  Forestry  Crew"  by  John  Clair  Minot;  "The 
Boy  Who  Was  'Different'"  by  Walter  E.  Andrews; 
"Trapped  by  the  Wire"  by  Albert  W.  Tolman;  "Sally 
Patton's  Quiet  Day"  by  Frances  Margaret  Fox;  "The 
Return  of  Rhoda"  by  Susan  Glaspell;  "Preparing  to 
Be  a  Teacher"  by  Karl  W.  Gehrkens;  Chas.  Scribner's 
Sons  for  "The  Mother"  by  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  and 
"The  Freight  Train"  from  Tales  of  an  Engineer,  With 
Rhymes  of  the  Rail  by  Cy  Warman. 


THE    PREFACE 

In  these  days  of  highly  specialized  industry  there 

is  no  longer  opportunity  for  boys  coming  home  from 

school  to 

Look  in  at  the  open  door, 
See  the  flaming  forge, 
And  hear  the  bellows  roar. 

Nor  can  girls  ^atch  maid  or  matron 

Seated  beside  her  wheel,  the  carded  wool  like  a  snowdrift 
Piled  at  her  knee,  her  white  hands  feeding  the  ravenous  spindle. 

Blacksmith  and  spinner  are  behind  closed  doors  with 
"No  Admittance"  signs  upon  them.  Hence  it  be- 
comes the  problem  of  the  public  schools  to  give  pupils 
glimpses  of  the  different  hnes  of  business  activity. 

This  is  the  first  offering  of  a  vocational  reader  as 
an  aid  to  the  teacher  in  meeting  her  responsibilities 
as  a  vocational  counselor.  It  is  believed  that,  in 
addition  to  furnishing  selections  of  Hterary  merit, 
this  book  will  stimulate  boys  and  girls  to  select 
vocations  whereby  they  can  take  their  part  in  the 
world's  work,  and  through  its  vivid  pictures  of 
present-day  industry  enable  the  pupil  to  choose  an 
occupation  in  harmony  with  inclination  and  natural 
talents. 

My  thanks  are  cordially  given  to  those  writers 
and  publishers  who  have  generously  permitted  the 
use  of  copyrighted  matter.  Especially  am  I  in- 
debted to  the  editors  of  the   Youth's  Companion, 


lO 


TJie  Preface 


not  only  for  the  use  of  articles  but  for  help  in  finding 
selections  of  the  right  sort.  I  also  thank  all  who 
have  furnished  information  for  biographical  and 
autobiographical  sketches. 

Park  Pressey 

Boston 

January  i,   IQ16 


VOCATION 


Photograph  by  Paul  Thompson 

Dan  Beard,  National  Commissioner  of  Boy  Scouts,  and 

Ernest  Thompson  Seton  giving  medals  to 

highest  point  winners 


A  VOCATIONAL  READER 

THE   MEN   OF   TO-MORROW 

DAN    BEARD 

(National  Commissioner  of  Boy  Scouts) 

You  boys  of  to-day  are  to  be  the  men  of  to- 
morrow. We,;,  who  are  now  sending  you  mes- 
sages, giving  you  advice,  showing  you  how  to 
do  things,  to-morrow  will  be  the  men  of  yesterday, 
and  when  that  time  comes  the  management  of 
the  United  States  will  be  in  your  hands.  Boys  of 
to-day  will  occupy  the  governors'  chairs  in  all  the 
states  of  this  Union  to-morrow.  Every  policeman, 
every  lawyer,  every  judge,  every  alderman,  every 
mayor,  every  congressman,  every  senator,  every 
president  must  give  up  his  place  to  one  of  you;  and 
if  you  are  good  boys  to-day,  we  shall  have  a  finer 
set  of  men  to-morrow  than  we  had  yesterday. 

We  want  more  George  Washingtons,  more  Abra- 
ham Lincolns,  more  Henry  Georges,  more  Thomas 
Jeffersons,  more  William  Penns,  more  John  Bigelows, 
more  Mark  Twains,  more  Wilbur  Wrights,  more 
Thomas  Edisons— and  we  must  find  them  among 
you  fellows. 

You  have  seen  a  lot  in  the  papers  about  con- 
servation of  our  resources.  The  most  valuable 
resources  we  have  are  the  boys  of  America.     Every 

13 


14 


A    Vocational   Reader 


Courtesy  of  Boy  Scouts  of  America 

The  boy  scout  movement  is  inspiring  the  youth  of  the  country 
with  a  spirit  of  helpfulness  and  social  service 

boy  who  goes  astray  and  becomes  a  misfit  and  a 
failure  is  a  great  loss  to  his  country.  Every  honor- 
able, brave,  efficient  boy  is  a  tremendous  asset. 


"Some  people  complain  that  they  'lead  a  dog's 
life.'  But  are  they  as  faithful  to  their  trust,  as  loyal 
to  friends,  as  content  with  their  lot,  as  responsive 
to  kindness,  as  free  from  the  inclination  to  growl, 
as  the  dogs  they  know?" 


A    Message    to    Garcia  15 

A   MESSAGE   TO   GARCIA 

ELBERT    HUBBARD 

When  war  broke  out  between  Spain  and  the 
United  States,  it  was  very  necessary  to  com- 
municate quickly  with  the  leader  of  the  Insurgents. 
Garcia  was  somewhere  in  the  mountain  fastnesses  of 
Cuba — no  one  knew  where.  No  mail  or  telegraph 
message  could  reach  him.  The  President  must 
secure   his  '  cooperation,    and   quickly. 

What  to  do!  . 

Some  one  said*"to  the  President,  "There's  a  fellow 
by  the  name  of  Rowan  will  find  Garcia  for  you,  if 
anybody  can." 

Rowan  was  sent  for  and  given  a  letter  to  be 
delivered  to  Garcia.  How  "the  fellow  by  the  name 
of  Rowan"  took  the  letter,  sealed  it  up  in  an  oilskin 
pouch,  strapped  it  over  his  heart,  in  four  days 
landed  by  night  off  the  coast  of  Cuba  from  an  open 
boat,  disappeared  into  the  jungle,  and  in  three 
weeks  came  out  on  the  other  side  of  the  island, 
having  traversed  a  hostile  country  on  foot,  and 
delivered  his  letter  to  Garcia,  are  things  I  have 
no  special  desire  now  to  tell  in  detail. 

The  point  I  wish  to  make  is  this :  McKinley 
gave  Rowan  a  letter  to  be  delivered  to  Garcia; 
Rowan  took  the  letter  and  did  not  ask,  "Where 
is  he  at?" 

By  the  Eternal !  there  is  a  man  whose  form  should 
be  cast  in  deathless  bronze,  and  the  statue  placed 
in  every  college  of  the  land.     It  is  not  more  book 


i6  .1    Wh-ational  Reader 

learning  young  men  need,  or  instruction  about  this 
and  that,  but  a  stiffening  of  the  vertebrae  which  wih 
cause  them  to  be  loyal  to  a  trust,  to  act  promptly,  con- 
centrate their  energies  —  do  the  thing — "Carry  a 
message  to  Garcia!" 

No  man  who  has  endeavored  to  carry  out  an 
enterprise  where  many  hands  were  needed,  but  has 
been  well-nigh  appalled  at  times  by  the  inability  or 
unwillingness  of  the  average  man  to  concentrate 
on  a  thing  and  do  it. 

Put  this  matter  to  a  test :  You  are  sitting  now  in 
your  office — six  clerks  are  within  call.  Summon 
any  one  and  make  this  request:  "Please  look  in 
the  encyclopedia  and  make  a  brief  memorandum 
for  me  concerning  the  life  of  Correggio." 

Will  the  clerk  quietly  say,  "Yes,  sir,"  and  go  do 
the  task? 

On  your  life  he  will  not.  He  will  look  at  you 
out  of  a  fishy  eye  and  ask  one  or  more  of  the 
following  questions: 

Who  was  he? 

Which  encyclopedia? 

Where  is  the  encyclopedia? 

Was  I  hired  for  that? 

Don't  you  mean  Bismarck? 

What's  the  matter  with  Charlie  doing  it? 

Is  he  dead? 

Is  there  any  hurry? 

Shan't  I  bring  you  the  book  and  let  you  look  it 
up  yourself? 

What  do  you  want  to  know  for? 


A    Message   to   Garcia  17 

And  I  will  lay  you  ten  to  one  that  after  you  have 
answered  the  questions,  and  explained  how  to  find 
the  information,  and  why  you  want  it,  the  clerk 
will  go  off  and  get  one  of  the  other  clerks  to  help 
him  try  to  find  Garcia — and  then  come  back  and 
tell  you  there  is  no  such  man. 

Now  if  you  are  wise  you  will  not  bother  to  ex- 
plain to  your  "assistant"  that  Correggio  is  indexed 
under  the  C's,  not  in  the  K's,  but  you  will  smile 
sweetly  and  say,  "Never  mind,"  and  go  look  it  up 
yourself. 

Advertise  for  a  stenographer,  and  nine  out  of  ten 
who  apply  can  neither  spell  nor  punctuate — and 
do  not  think  it  necessary  to.  Can  such  a  one 
write  a  letter  to  Garcia? 

"You  see  that  bookkeeper,"  said  the  foreman  to 
me  in  a  large  factory. 

"Yes,  what  about  him?" 

"Well,  he's  a  fine  accountant,  but  if  I'd  send 
him  up  town  on  an  errand  he  might  accomplish 
the  errand  all  right;  and  on  the  other  hand,  might 
stop  at  four  saloons  on  the  way,  and  when  he  got 
to  Main  Street  would  forget  what  he  had  been 
sent  for." 

Can  such  a  man  be  intrusted  to  carry  a  message 
to  Garcia? 

We  have  recently  been  hearing  much  maudlin 
sym.pathy  expressed  for  the  "downtrodden  denizen 
of  the  sweatshop"  and  the  "homeless  wanderer 
searching  for  honest  employment,"  and  with  it  all 
often  go  many  hard  words  for  the  men  in  power. 


1 8 


A  Vocational  Reader 


The  errand  boy  who  stops  to  idle  on  the  way  is  not  one  who  can 
carry  a  message  to  Garcia 

Nothing  is  said  about  the  employer  who  grows 
old  before  his  time  in  a  vain  attempt  to  get  frowsy 
ne'er-do-wells  to  do  intelligent  work,  and  his  long, 
patient  striving  with  "help"  that  does  nothing 
but  loaf  when  his  back  is  turned.  In  every  store 
and  factory  there  is  a  constant  weeding-out  process 
going  on.  The  employer  is  constantly  sending 
away  "help''  that  have  shown  their  incapacity  to 
further  the  interests  of  the  business,  and  others 
are  being  taken  on.  No  matter  how  good  times 
are,  this  sorting  continues,  only  if  times  are  hard 
and  work  is  scarce,  the  sorting  is  done  finer — but 
out  and  forever  out,  the  incompetent  and  unworthy 
go.  It  is  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  Self-interest 
prompts  every  employer  to  keep  the  best  —  those 
who  can  carry  a  message  to  Garcia. 


A  Message  to  Garcia  19 

I  know  one  man  of  really  brilliant  parts  who 
had  not  the  ability  to  manage  a  business  of  his  own, 
and  yet  who  is  absolutely  worthless  to  any  one  else, 
because  he  carries  with  him  constantly  the  insane 
suspicion  that  his  employer  is  oppressing,  or  intend- 
ing to  oppress  him.  He  cannot  give  orders,  and  he 
will  not  receive  them.  Should  a  message  be  given 
him  to  take  to  Garcia,  his  answer  would  probably 
be,  "Take  it  yourself." 

To-night  this  man  walks  the  streets  looking  for 
work,  the  win^  whistling  through  his  threadbare 
coat.  No  one  who  knows  him  dare  employ  him, 
for  he  is  a  regular  firebrand  of  discontent.  He  is 
impervious  to  reason,  and  the  only  thing  that  can 
impress  him  is  the  toe  of  a  thick-soled  No.  9  boot. 

Have  I  put  the  matter  too  strongly?  Possibly 
I  have ;  but  when  all  the  world  has  gone  a-slumming 
I  wish  to  speak  a  word  of  sympathy  for  the  man 
who  succeeds — the  man  who,  against  great  odds, 
has  directed  the  efforts  of  others,  and,  having  suc- 
ceeded, finds  there's  nothing  in  it — nothing  but  bare 
board  and  clothes. 

I  have  carried  a  dinner  pail  and  worked  for  day's 
wages;  and  I  have  also  been  an  employer  of  labor. 
My  heart  goes  out  to  the  man  who  does  his  work 
when  the  "boss"  is  away  as  well  as  when  he  is  at 
home.  And  the  man  who,  when  given  a  letter  for 
Garcia,  quietly  takes  the  missive,  without  asking 
an}^  idiotic  questions,  and  with  no  lurking  intention 
of  chucking  it  into  the  nearest  sewer,  or  of  doing 
aught   else   but   deliver   it,    never   gets    "laid   off." 


20  A   Vocational  Reader 

Civilization  is  one  long,  anxious  search  for  just 
such  individuals.  Anything  such  a  man  asks  shall 
be  granted  —  his  kind  is  so  rare  that  no  employer 
can  afford  to  let  him  go.  He  is  wanted  in  every 
city,  town,  and  village — in  every  office,  shop, 
store,  and  factory.  The  world  cries  out  for  such — 
he  is  needed  and  needed  badly — the  man  who  can 
carry  a  message  to  Garcia. 

PITCHER,  SHORTSTOP,  OR  OUT-FIELDER? 

ELBRIDGE    B.    LINCOLN 

Any  one  who  has  tried  to  manage  a  school  team 
knows  how  great  a  difference  there  is  in  ball  players. 
The  best  of  pitchers  is  usually  a  failure  at  shortstop ; 
the  star  out-fielder  may  make  only  errors  when  put 
on  first  base;  and  the  catcher  who  can  hold  every 
curve  put  over  the  plate  often  cannot  himself  pitch 
a  curve  of  any  kind. 

The  same  difference  holds  true  in  business  and 
professional  life.  One  man  makes  a  splendid  doctor, 
another  amasses  a  fortune  as  a  manufacturer,  while 
others  succeed  as  farmers,  lawyers,  teachers,  or 
merchants.  But  the  doctor  would  probably  have 
been  a  failure  had  he  tried  farming,  and  the  lawyer 
might  have  gone  into  bankruptcy  as  a  manufac- 
turer. In  fact,  life  is  only  a  great  ball  team,  with  a 
vast  number  of  different  positions  to  be  filled,  and 
each  place  calls  for  special  ability  on  the  part  of  the 
man  or  woman  who  is  to  fill  it  as  it  should  be  filled. 

When  a  boy  tries  to  play  a  position  on  the  team 


Pitcher,  Shortstop,  or  Out-fielder  f 


21 


for  which  he  is  not  fitted,  he  not  only  shows  his 

own  weakness  but  he  makes  the  other  players  less 

efhcient.     So,   in    life,  every   misfit   puts  a  burden 

on  the  rest  of  the  world,  and 

the   community  is  worse   off 

than  it  would  be  without  him. 

Modern    business    conditions 

are  so  delicately  balanced  that 

it  is  essential  for  each  man  to 

find  the  right  place. 

Every  boy,  a^  some  time  in 
his  school  life,  wants  to  be  a 
pitcher.  Peculiar  glory  covers 
the  player  who  stands  in  the 
box  and  tries  to  outguess  the 
batter.  And  yet  a  team  of 
nine  pitchers  would  never  win 
a  game.  It  takes  in-field,  out- 
field, and  battery  to  cover  all 
positions  successfully. 

And  what  a  sorry  mess  this 
world  would  be  if  every  one 
were  a  Shakespeare,  or  a  Na- 
poleon, or  an  Edison.  The 
particularly  brilliant  men  have 
their  part  to  do,  but  it  requires  well-fitted  workers  in 
all  the  different  places  to  make  the  game  a  winning 
one.  The  fact  that  nature  made  us  so  very  differ- 
ent is  our  salvation.  The  vital  question  is,  ' '  What 
is  the  kind  of  work  for  which  we  are  best  fitted?" 

One   of   the   most   important   persons   connected 


Inf crriiiliftn;!!   Niwh  Scr\ii«' 

Christy  Mathewson,  star 
pitcher  of  the  New  York 
Giants,  starting  the  "Fade- 
awa y . "  Nine  pitchers  like 
"Matty,"  however,  would 
fail  to  make  awinningteam 


22 


A  Vocational  Reader 


Photograph  by  Wade  Mountfortt,  Jr. 

Future  baseball  stars  shining  on  the  vacant  lots  about  the  city 

with  a  ball  team  is  the  coach.  He  is  a  man  of 
experience,  has  played  the  game,  and  has  learned 
to  know  the  possibilities  in  each  candidate.  His 
authority  is  recognized  by  the  players,  and  his 
judgment  decides  in  what  position  each  one  shall 
play.  A  good  coach  can  often  make  a  strong  team 
out  of  a  weak  one,  simply  by  shifting  the  players 
about. 

Fortunate,  indeed,  is  the  boy  who  has  the  right 
sort  of  coaching  for  his  work  in  life.  And  he  can 
usually  get  it  if  he  is  awake  to  his  opportunities. 
Father,  teachers,  business  men,  the  family  doctor, 
can  give  from  their  experiences  advice  that  will 
enable  him  to  determine  the  position  for  which  he 
should   go  into   training. 

In  choosing  a  vocation  a  very  important  factor  is, 


Pitcher,  Shortstop,  or  Out-fielder?  23 

of  course,  the  money  return.  A  boy  often  has  the 
choice  of  two  places.  One  gives  small  pay  for  the 
first  few  years,  but  in  the  end,  if  he  is  successful, 
promises  a  large  salary.  The  other  pays  two  or 
three  times  as  much  at  the  start,  but  there  is  little 
likelihood  that  it  will  ever  lead  to  anything  better. 
Again,  there  are  lines  of  work  in  which  the  pay  is 
good,  but  the  nature  of  the  business  is  such  that  it 
soon  wears  a  man  out;  just  as  in  professional  base- 
ball the  pitcher  with  the  big  reputation  and  the  fat 
salary  usually  has  to  go  back  to  the  "minors,"  or 
is  forced  out  of  the  game  altogether,  long  before 
the  good  fielder  ceases  to  draw  his  regular  check  in 
the  major  league.  If  one  can  fill  two  positions  in 
life  about  equally  well,  the  question  to  be  decided 
is  whether  a  large  early  salary  makes  up  for  the 
fewer   years   one   can    draw   it. 

On  the  ball  field  we  are  forever  having  it 
dinned  into  us  that  we  should  perfect  our  team  play. 
The  fellow  who  is  constantly  going  after  an  indi- 
vidual record  soon  becomes  unpopular  with  both 
players  and  "fans."  It  is  the  one  who  is  wilhng  to 
work  for  the  good  of  the  team,  even  if  he  has  to  pass 
by  chances  to  better  his  own  average,  who  is  worth 
while  in  the  game. 

In  life,  too,  there  are  many  chances  to  gain  some- 
thing for  ourselves  at  the  expense  of  others ;  but  when 
choosing  an  occupation  we  should  consider  what  its 
influence  will  be  upon  the  lives  of  the  community. 
If  it  is  a  business  the  very  nature  of  which  must 
make  it  work  harm  to  others,  we  should  pass  it  by. 


24 


A   Vocational  Reader 


Photograph  by  Paul  ThomDaon 

Caught  between  second  and  third  base.     Good  team  work  in 
baseball  as  in  the  game  of  life  counts  much  for  victory 

even  though  we  are  sure  to  make  money  at  it. 
Luckily,  we  are  so  constituted  that  we  are  not 
obHged  to  go  into  any  work  that  will  not  make  for 
good  team  play. 

The  number  and  variety  of  positions  to  be  filled 
on  the  team  of  life  are  constantly  growing.  Every 
new  discovery,  every  new  improvement,  creates  a 
new  want.  The  extended  use  of  the  telephone 
calls  for  an  ever-increasing  army  of  workers,  both 
men  and  women.  The  installation  of  the  wireless 
telegraph  means  the  employment  of  a  new  and  dis- 
tinct class  of  operators.  Think  how  the  automobile 
industry  has  recently  developed !  Your  own  father, 
when  a  boy,  never  heard  of  a  chauffeur,  yet  you  not 
only  know  what  the  word  means,  but,  quite  likely, 


To  Labor  25 

hope  some  day  to  be  one,  and  to  drive  a  purring, 
snorting,  high-powered  car.  Never  was  there  a 
time  when  there  was  such  a  varied  assortment  of 
occupations  from  which  to  choose  one  suited  to  our 
peculiar  Hkings  and  abiUties  as  right  now. 

And  how  shall  we  qualify?  By  attending  to 
duties  that  lie  at  hand.  By  forming  right  habits. 
By  learning  to  use  the  experience  of  others,  and  so 
avoid  things  that  have  proved  harmful  to  them, 
even  though  we  cannot  see  how  they  can  injure  us. 
If  we  follow  thi-s  line  of  training,  when  school  is 
over  and  the  umpire  calls  "Play  ball,"  we  can 
take  our  places  in  business  or  professional  life  trained 
and  equipped  to  play  the  game  with  honor  and 
success. 

TO   LABOR 

CHARLOTTE    PERKINS    OILMAN 

Shall  you  complain  who  feed  the  world? 
Who  clothe  the  world? 
Who  house  the  world? 
Shall  you  complain,  who  are  the  world. 
Of  what  the  world  may  do  ? 
As  from  this  hour 
You  use  your  power 
The  world  must  follow  you. 

The  world's  life  hangs  on  your  right  hand ! 

Your  strong  right  hand ! 

Your  skilled  right  hand! 
You  hold  the  whole  world  in  your  hand. 


26  A  Vocational  Reader 

See  to  it  what  you  do! 
Or  dark  or  light, 
Or  wrong  or  right, 

The  world  is  made  by  you! 


A  railroad  accident  that  wrecked  the  train  on 
which  rode  young  George  Westinghouse  set  the 
alert  inventor's  brain  to  thinking  how  such  accidents 
could  be  averted.  As  he  w^atched  the  train  crews 
struggling  with  the  inefficient  hand-brakes,  the  idea 
flashed  into  his  mind:  "If  there  were  only  some 
way  by  which  the  engineer  could  brake  the  train!" 

For  months  he  thought  of  little  else  except  this 
question,  but  the  solution  seemed  as  far  away  as 
ever.  One  hot  day,  as  he  was  sitting  at  his  desk, 
a  little  girl  timidly  approached  him  with  a  request 
that  he  subscribe  to  a  magazine.  Busy  and  ab- 
sorbed, but  incapable  of  speaking  roughly  to  a  child, 
he  bought  a  copy,  and  turned  back  to  his  work. 

But  the  end  of  his  task  was  at  hand,  for  in  the 
magazine  at  his  elbow  lay  the  phrase  that  was  to 
solve  the  problem  of  the  air-brake.  His  model  had 
been  completed,  but  the  operating  power  was  unsatis- 
factory. Idly  turning  the  pages  of  the  magazine, 
Westinghouse  saw  an  account  of  tunnel-building  in 
which  the  work  was  done  by  compressed  air.  In  a 
flash  he  had  found  the  solution  of  his  problem. 

The  inventor  realized  his  debt  to  the  little  agent, 
and  tried  hard  to  find  her.  But  he  never  saw  her 
again.     Her  work  was  done. 


OUT-OF-DOOR  OCCUPATIONS 


THE   NEW  AMERICAN   FARMER 

HERBERT    N.    CASSON 

If  the  American  farmer  were  to  go  out  of  busi- 
ness this  year  he  would  have  to  sell  his  farm  on 
credit,  for  there  is  not  money  enough  in  the  whole 
world  to  pay  him  half  his  price  of  thirty  thousand 
million  dollars. 

We  talk  of  money-mad  trusts;  but  when  we 
remember  that  tTie  American  farmer  earns  enough 
in  seventeen  days  to  buy  out  Standard  Oil,  and 
enough  in  fifty  days  to  purchase  the  Steel  Trust, 
the  story  of  the  trusts  seems  like  "the  short  and 
simple  annals  of  the  poor." 

One  American  harvest  would  buy  the  kingdom  of 
Belgium;  two  would  buy  Italy;  three  would  buy 
Austria-Hungary,  and  five  would  take  Russia  from 
the  Czar. 

With  the  setting  of  every  sun,  the  money  box  of 
the  American  farmer  bulges  with  the  weight  of 
twenty-four  new  millions.  Place  your  finger  on 
the  pulse  of  your  wrist  and  count  the  heartbeats  — 
one — two  —  three — four.  With  every  four  of  these 
quick  throbs,  day  and  night,  a  thousand  dollars 
clatters  into  the  gold  bin  of  the  American  farmer. 

Such  is  our  New  Farmer — a  man  for  whom  there 

■  is  no  name  in  any  language.     Instead  of  being  an 

ignorant  hoeman  in  a  barnyard  world,  he  gets  the 

news    by    daily    mail    and    telephone.     Instead    of 

29 


30  A  Vocational  Reader 

being  a  moneyless  peasant,  he  pays  the  year's  inter- 
est on  his  mortgage  with  the  earnings  of  a  week. 
Even  this  is  less  of  an  expense  than  it  seems,  for  he 
borrows  the  money  from  his  own  banks,  and  he 
spends  the  bulk  of  the  tax  money  around  his  own 
properties. 

The  new  farmer  is  in  business,  not  simply  working 
for  a  living.  He  is  a  commercialist, — a  man  of  the 
twentieth  century.  He  works  as  hard  as  the  old 
farmer,  but  in  a  higher  way.  He  uses  the  four 
tns — mind,  money,  machinery,  and  muscle.  His 
hermit  days  are  over;  he  is  a  man  among  men.  The 
railway,  the  trolley,  the  top  buggy,  and  the  auto- 
mobile have  transformed  him  into  a  suburbanite. 
In  fact,  his  business  has  become  so  complex  and 
many-sided  that  he  touches  civilization  at  more 
points  and  lives  a  larger  life  than  he  would  if  he 
were  one  of  the  atoms  of  a  crowded  city. 


SppTjl 

^nir^m=is^m*-  " 

'  ^''M 

Photograph  by  Eugene  J.  Hall 

This  prosperous   Wisconsin   dairy  farm  is  evidence   that 

the  New  American  Farmer  is  engaged  in  a  paying 

business,  not  simply  working  for  a  living 


The  New  American  Farmer 


31 


^    ^iili 

ipHte^           .jiIR^S^^^^^^S 

|^j>'.  ^*^  K'\ 

^j^yi^^SL 

^^^^I^^BHH^M 

» 

^ss^^numi 

:\r'- 

i«up|i  \m 

^m 

.'   .  . 

•^ 

I'liotu!:r;i[)li  l.y   lamiDi-  .1.   \\;M 


The  owner  of  such  a  farm,  the  brain-working  farmer,  is  the 
man  behind  prosperity 

All  farmers,  of  course,  are  not  of  this  type.  The 
country,  like  the  city,  has  its  slums.  But  the  brain- 
working  farmer  is  the  man  behind  prosperity.  That 
is  the  big  fact  of  recent  American  history. 

The  best  friend  of  the  farmer  has  been  the  maker 
of  farm  machinery — and  four  fifths  of  the  "har- 
vester kings  "  were  themselves  farmers'  sons.  There 
are  no  two  men  more  closely  linked  together  by  ties 
of  blood  and  business  than  the  farmer  and  the 
man  who  makes  his  labor-saving  tools.  Jethro 
Wood  was  a  wealthy  Quaker  farmer  of  New 
York.  The  late  James  Oliver,  the  "plow  king"  of 
Indiana,  and  David  Bradley,  one  of  his  greatest 
competitors,  were  both  born  and  bred  near  the 
furrowed  soil. 


32 


A   Vocational  Reader 


Photograph  by  Eugene  J.  Hall 

Machinery  has  transformed  the  life  and  work  of  the  farmer, 

eliminating  much  of  the  drudgery  and  producing 

greater  wealth 

McCormick  built  his  first  reaper  in  a  barnyard, 
and  the  man  who  owned  the  first  reaper  factories, 
David  S.  Morgan,  grew  up  amid  the  stumps  of  a 
New  York  farm.  It  was  out  in  the  wheat  fields 
that  the  idea  of  a  self-binder  flashed  upon  the 
brain  of  John  F.  Appleby.  There,  also,  Jacob 
Miller  learned  to  improve  the  thresher,  George 
Easterly  to  build  the  header,  and  Joseph  F.  Glidden 
to  invent  barbed  wire. 

To-day,  farming  is  not  drudgery.  Rather  it  is  a 
race — an  exciting  rivalry  between  different  states. 
For  years  Illinois  and  Iowa  have  run  neck  and 
neck  in  the  raising  of  corn  and  oats.     Kansas  now 


The  New  American  Farmer 


2,i 


carries  the  blue  ribbon  for  wheat,  with  North 
Dakota  breathless  in  second  place;  Minnesota  has 
shot  to  the  front  in  the  barley  race ;  Louisiana  and 
Texas  lead  in  the  production  of  rice;  Kentucky 
is  the  tobacco  champion;  New  York  holds  the 
record  for  hay,  and  Michigan  for  potatoes. 

In  Iowa  alone  there  are  twenty  thousand  women 
and  three  hundred  thousand  men  who  have  made 
farming  a  profession.     They  are  producing  wealth 


I'botograpb  by  Eugt'iie  J.  Mull 

The  value  of  one  year's  corn  crop  in  Iowa  would  build  three 
New  York  subways 


34  ^  Vocational  Reader 

at  the  rate  of  five  hundred  milUon  dollars  a  year — 
nearly  sixteen  hundred  dollars  apiece.  How?  By 
throwing  the  drudgery  upon  machines.  Iowa 
is  not  so  large  as  Httle  England,  yet  with  her  hog 
money  alone  she  could  pay  the  salaries  of  all  the 
monarchs  of  Europe,  and  with  one  year's  corn  crop 
she  could  build  three  New  York  subways. 

When  the  Indians  sold  Iowa  to  Uncle  Sam  they 
got  about  eight  cents  an  acre.  To  give  the  price 
exactly,  it  was  $2,877,574.87.  There  were  states- 
men who  protested  that  it  was  too  much,  yet  this 
amount  was  less  than  one  quarter  of  the  value  of 
the  eggs  in  last  year's  nests.  Every  three  months 
the  Iowa  hen  pays  for  Iowa. 

Iowa  is  not  an  exceptional  state.  A  traveler 
hears  the  same  story — from  oxcart  to  automobile — 
in  almost  every  region  of  the  Prairie  West.  The 
various  states  are  only  patches  of  one  vast  grassy 
plain,  where 

Painted  harvesters,  fleet  after  fleet, 
Like  yachts,  career  through  seas  of  waving  wheat. 

All  this  amazing  progress  is  by  no  means  the  best 

that  the  new  farmer  will  do.     It  is  merely  what  he 

has  already  done  by  the  aid  of  machinery.     What 

he  will  do  hereafter  by  the  aid  of  science  remains 

to  be  seen. 

— From  Review  of  Reviews 

When    tillage    begins,    other    arts    follow.     The 

farmers,    therefore,    are    the    founders    of    human 

civilization. 

— Daniel  Webster 


Farmer  John  35 

FARMER  JOHN 

JOHN    T.    TROWBRIDGE 

Home  from  his  journey  Farmer  John 
Arrived  this  morning,  safe  and  sound. 

His  black  coat  off,  and  his  old  clothes  on, 

"Now  I'm  myself!"  says  Farmer  John; 
And  he  thinks,  "I'll  look  around." 

Up  leaps  the  dog:     "Get  down,  you  pup! 

Are  you  so  glad  you  would  eat  me  up?" 

The  old  cow  lows  at  the  gate,  to  greet  him; 

The  horses  ;prick  up  their  ears,  to  meet  him: 
"Wen,  well,  old  Bay! 
Ha,  ha,  old  Gray! 

Do  you  get  good  feed  when  I  am  away? 

"You  have  n't  a  rib!"  says  Farmer  John; 

' '  The  cattle  are  looking  round  and  sleek ; 
The  colt  is  going  to  be  a  roan, 
And  a  beauty  too :   how  he  has  grown ! 

We'll  wean  the  calf  next  week." 
Says  Farmer  John,  "When  I've  been  off, 
To  call  you  again  about  the  trough, 
And  watch  you,  and  pet  you,  while  you  drink. 
Is  a  greater  comfort  than  you  can  think!" 
And  he  pats  old  Bay, 
And  he  slaps  old  Gray ; — 
"Ah,  this  is  the  comfort  of  going  away! 

"For,  after  all,"  says  Farmer  John, 

"The  best  of  a  journey  is  getting  home. 


36  A   Vocational  Reader 

I've  seen  great  sights;  but  would  I  give 
This  spot,  and  the  peaceful  life  I  live, 

For  all  their  Paris  and  Rome? 
These  hills  for  the  city's  stifled  air, 
And  big  hotels  all  bustle  and  glare. 
Land  all  houses,  and  roads  all  stones, 
That  deafen  your  ears  and  batter  your  bones? 

Would  you,  old  Bay? 

Would  you,  old  Gray? 
That 's  what  one  gets  by  going  away ! 

"There  Money  is  king,"  says  Farmer  John; 

"And  Fashion  is  queen;  and  it's  mighty  queer 
To  see  how  sometimes,  while  the  man 
Is  raking  and  scraping  all  he  can, 

The  wife  spends,  every  year. 
Enough,  you  would  think,  for  a  score  of  wives, 
To  keep  them  in  luxury  all  their  lives! 
The  town  is  a  perfect  Babylon 
To  a  quiet  chap,"  says  Farmer  John. 

"You  see,  old  Bay, — 

You  see,  old  Gray, — 
I  'm  wiser  than  when  I  went  away. 

"I've  found  out  this,"  says  Farmer  John, — 
"That  happiness  is  not  bought  and  sold. 

And  clutched  in  a  life  of  waste  and  hurry, 

In  nights  of  pleasure  and  days  of  worry; 
And  wealth  is  n't  all  in  gold, 

Mortgage  and  stocks  and  ten  per  cent, — 


The  Average  Man  37 

But  in  simple  ways,  and  sweet  content, 
Few  wants,  pure  hopes,  and  noble  ends. 
Some  land  to  till,  and  a  few  good  friends, 

Like  you,  old  Bay, 

And  you,  old  Gray! 
That's  what  I've  learned  by  going  away." 

And  a  happy  man  is  Farmer  John, — 

Oh,  a  rich  and  happy  man  is  he ! 
He  sees  the  peas  and  pumpkins  growing, 
The  corn  in  ta^el,  the  buckwheat  blowing, 

And  fruit  on  vine  and  tree; 
The  large,  kind  oxen  look  their  thanks 
As  he  rubs  their  foreheads  and  strokes  their  flanks; 
The  doves  light  round  him,  and  strut  and  coo." 
Says  Farmer  John,  "I'll  take  you  too, — 
And  you,  old  Bay, 
And  you,  old  Gray, 
Next  time  I  travel  so  far  away!" 

THE   AVERAGE   MAN 

JOSEPH    E.    WING 

Thomas  Jones  was  in  no  way  a  remarkable  boy. 
He  was  slender,  long-legged,  brown,  and  carried  in 
his  face  the  ruddy  tints  of  health  left  there  by  the 
sun  and  wind  of  the  great  outdoors.  There  was  a 
merry  twinkle  to  his  eye,  a  sweet  and  gentle  curve 
to  his  sensitive  mouth.  He  was  a  friendly  soul  who 
had  many  comrades — schoolfellows,  harvest  hands, 
threshermen,  neighbors'  sons. 

148G54 


38  A  Vocational  Reader 

Every  one  liked  the  boy,  he  was  so  gentle,  so 
impulsive,  so  winning,  although  they  had  many 
occasions  to  chide  him  for  his  carelessness.  His 
thrifty  father  frowned  when  Tom  spent  for  a  new 
gun  every  cent  he  had  earned  by  cutting  corn.  The 
elder  brothers  grumbled  because  he  loved  to  hunt, 
trap,  and  fish,  and  would  often  leave  tasks  undone 
to  slip  afield  with  dog  and  gun.  The  sisters  com- 
plained when  Tom  forgot  to  wash  the  buggy,  curry 
the  driving  mare,  pump  water  for  the  bathroom, 
or  when  he  whistled  shrilly  in  the  house  to  call  in 
his  dogs  to  make  tracks  on  the  smoothly  polished 
floors. 

You  see,  do  you  not,  that  Tom  Jones  was  just  an 
average  boy? 

There  were  many  things  he  would  have  loved  to 
know,  but  he  did  not  see  that  any  of  these  were 
taught  in  schools.  He  would  have  been  glad  to 
learn  how  the  wild  goose  knew  what  weather  was 
coming;  how  it  knew  that  there  were  great  silent, 
lonely  lakes  in  the  Far  North,  where  it  might  lay 
its  eggs  and  raise  its  young,  undisturbed.  He  would 
have  been  glad  to  know  how  the  mother  quail 
taught  her  young  to  hide  in  the  grass  at  her  one 
sharp-called  command;  what  his  dog  thought  of 
when  he  stood  with  his  head  resting  on  the  boy's 
knee,  looking  up  longingly  into  his  young  master's 
face. 

He  would  have  liked  to  know  why  the  old  cow 
hides  her  calf  in  the  tall  weeds  when  it  is  newborn, 
and  how  the  little  thing  understands  and  remains 


The  Average  Man  39 

hidden  till  she  comes  again;  how  the  wild  grape 
finds  its  way  to  the  tall  treetop;  how  the  clover 
seed,  deep-buried,  lies  patiently  sleeping  till  its 
time  to  be  raised  to  the  surface  comes.  These 
things  seemed  worth  w^hile  to  him. 

Had  he  but  known  it,  all  the  things  that  most 
interested  him  were  taught  in  books,  in  schools; 
there  was  a  world  of  delight  for  him  there,  exploring 
in  the  realms  of  soils  and  plants,  in  bird  and  animal 
life.  He  would  have  been  a  fine  student  in  an  agri- 
cultural college^  had  he  but  known  of  it ;  but  no 
one  told  him  this,  so  he  lived  his  own  life,  studying 
these  things  as  best  he  could  and  guessing  shrewdly 
at  the  answers. 

Only  the  mother  knew  and  understood  the  boy. 
How  could  she  understand,  she  who  had  never  in 
her  life  tasted  the  joy  of  tramping  through  tall, 
wet  grass  after  wild  ducks — this  mother  who  had 
never  spared  herself  or  snatched  a  joy  at  the  price 
of  leaving  work  undone?  God  knows  how  the 
mother  knew.  It  is  because  He  knows  all  things 
by  being  all  things,  and  it  is  the  God-spirit  in  the 
world  that  pervades  motherhood.  You  see  it  in 
the  wild  mothers — the  quail,  the  wild  deer,  all 
wild  things.     Mothers  know. 

There  was  the  blood  of  vikings,  of  crusaders,  of 
cavaliers,  in  Tom's  veins.  He  could  not  be  satisfied 
with  Hving  easy,  eating,  sleeping,  and  wearing 
clothes.  His  call  was  to  be  doing.  That  was  why 
he  liked  so  well  to  break  colts  or  to  drive  a  good 
horse.     That  was  why  he  loved   to  cut   corn,   for 


40  A   VocatioiKil  Reader 

one  could  use  all  the  strength  he  had,  all  the 
endurance,    and    much    skill. 

So  the  days  went  by.  They  lengthened  to  weeks, 
and  the  weeks  grew  into  years.  Tom  became  a 
man  in  stature,  and  began  to  take  a  regular  place 
in  the  work  of  the  farm. 

As  Tom's  father  grew  old  he  learned  to  lean 
more  and  more  upon  the  young  man.  Those  were 
happy  days  for  Tom  because  he  had  come  into  the 
new  strength  of  a  well-nigh  perfect  manhood.  He 
loved  the  farm  work,  and  no  one  of  the  men  could 
outdo  him  in  pitching  hay  or  digging  a  ditch.  He 
had  a  splendid  body,  and  he  kept  it  clean  and 
strong  within  and  without.  This  was  the  glorious 
time  of  life  when  one  feels  that  it  is  a  wonderful 
thing  to  be  alive  and  to  be  a  part  of  the  great  and 
beautiful  world. 

Tom  had  not  known  much  about  his  father's 
fortunes,  and  when  the  father  suddenly  passed  away 
he  was  amazed  to  find  the  farm  burdened  with 
heavy  debt.  Mightily  he  buckled  to  the  work. 
The  debt  must  be  paid,  and  then  the  farm  must 
be  made  to  pay  its  way.  The  smiling  mouth  devel- 
oped new  lines  of  decision  and  purpose.  The 
laugh  still  came,  and  the  merry  light  still  kindled 
in  the  brown  eyes,  yet  when  not  observed  the  man's 
face  settled  into  a  gravity  that  was  half  sternness. 
He  was  fighting  now — fighting  for  the  old  home. 

This  is  the  story  of  the  average  man.  I  knew 
him  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  loved  him  well.  I 
watched  his   struggles  in  early   manhood.     I   have 


The  Corn  Song  41 

watched  him  since.     The  debt  is  paid.     The  farm 
is  built  as  he  desired  —  almost. 

Why  have  I  written  this  story?  To  ask  myself, 
after  I  had  it  truthfully  set  down,  if  there  is  any- 
thing of  poetry,  of  romance,  of  fine  endeavor  in 
the  corn  belt.  Can  a  man  be  a  hero  and  cut  corn? 
Can  he  fill  his  life  with  sweetness  and  strength, 
and  feed  cattle?  You  who  believe  that  only  in 
wars  and  ,tumults  can  one  find  heroism  are  mis- 
taken. You  have  not  known  the  man  in  the  corn 
belt.     You  hav^  not  known  the  average  man. 

— From  Breeder's  Gazette 


THE   CORN   SONG 

JOHN    G.    WHITTIER 

Heap  high  the  farmer's  wintry  hoard! 

Heap  high  the  golden  corn ! 
No  richer  gift  has  autumn  poured 

From  out  her  lavish  horn! 

Let  other  lands,  exulting,  glean 

The  apple  from  the  pine. 
The  orange  from  its  glossy  green, 

The  cluster  from  the  vine; 

We  better  love  the  hardy  gift 

Our  rugged  vales  bestow, 
To  cheer  us  when  the  storm  shall  drift 

Our  harvest  fields  with  snow. 


42  A  Vocational  Reader 

Through  vales  of  grass  and  meads  of  flowers 
Our  plows  their  furrows  made, 

While  on  the  hills  the  sun  and  showers 
Of  changeful  April  played. 

We  dropped  the  seed  o'er  hill  and  plain 

Beneath  the  sun  of  May, 
And  frightened  from  our  sprouting  grain 

The  robber  crows  away. 

All  through  the  long,  bright  days  of  June 
Its  leaves  grew  green  and  fair, 

And  waved  in  hot  midsummer's  noon 
Its  soft  and  yellow  hair. 

And  now,  with  autumn's  moonlit  eves, 

Its  harvest  time  has  come, 
We  pluck  away  the  frosted  leaves. 

And  bear  the  treasure  home. 

There,  richer  than  the  fabled  gift 

Apollo  showered  of  old. 
Fair  hands  the  broken  grain  shall  sift. 

And  knead  its  meal  of  gold. 

Let  vapid  idlers  loll  in  silk 

Around  their  costly  board; 
Give  us  the  bowl  of  samp  and  milk. 

By  homespun  beauty  poured! 

Where'er  the  wide  old  kitchen  hearth 

Sends  up  its  smoky  curls, 
Who  will  not  thank  the  kindly  earth, 

And  bless  our  farmer  girls! 


With  a  Forestry  Crew  43 

Then  shame  on  all  the  proud  and  vain, 

Whose  folly  laughs  to  scorn 
The  blessing  of  our  hardy  grain, 

Our  wealth  of  golden  corn! 

Let  earth  withhold  her  goodly  root, 

Let  mildew  blight  the  rye, 
Give  to  the  worm  the  orchard's  fruit, 

The  wheat  field  to  the  fly : 

But  let  the  good  old  crop  adorn 

The  hills  o«r  fathers  trod; 
Still  let  us,  for  his  golden  corn. 

Send  up  our  thanks  to  God! 


WITH   A   FORESTRY   CREW 

JOHN    CLAIR    MINOT 

Going  deep  into  the  big  woods  is  something  that 
appeals  strongly  to  boys — or  to  almost  anybody 
else,  for  that  matter.  The  modern  profession  of 
forestry  has  opened  the  way  for  hundreds  of  young 
men  to  engage  in  attractive  and  remunerative 
work  in  the  open,  not  only  for  those  who  become 
professional  foresters  but  also  for  a  small  army  of 
others  who  pass  the  summer  months  as  members  of 
parties  doing  scientific  forestry  work  in  the  lumbering 
regions. 

The  old-time  "timber  cruisers"  whom  the  lumber- 
men used  to  employ  to  travel  over  the  region  to 
be  cut  and  guess  at  the  probable  yield  are  passing. 


44 


A   Vocational  Reader 


Courlfsy  of  i'urist  Service,  Washiimluu,  L).C. 


Making  a  valuation  survey.     The  forestry  service  means  a  life 
in  the  open  of  irresistible  attraction  to  the  vigorous, 
liberty-loving  youth 

These  "cruisers,"  or  "explorers,"  were  woodsmen 
of  long  experience,  and  it  is  to  be  said  to  their  credit 
that  their  estimates  were  often  amazingly  accurate. 
With  a  blanket  and  an  ax,  one  of  them  would  travel 
for  days,  making  no  measurements,  drawing  no 
maps,  writing  down  no  figures,  but  mentally  com- 
paring the  stand  of  timber  with  others  he  had 
known,  and  noting  carefully  the  difficulties  which 
lay  between  it  and  the  nearest  drivable  stream. 
Then  he  would  return  to  his  employer,  who  would 
base  his  calculations  and  arrange  his  plans  according 


With  a  Forestry  Crew  45 

to  the  report  made.  This  was  the  method  in  the 
great  lumber  regions  of  northern  New  England 
until  a  few  years  ago,  but  at  the  best  it  was  only 
guesswork.  Modern  conditions  demand  greater 
accuracy  and  more  attention  to  detail,  for  there 
has  to  be  closer  financial  figuring  than  a  generation 
ago,  and  scientific  forestry  also  means  less  waste  and 
a  conservation  of  the  future  supply. 

Now  if  a  man  owns  a  township  in  the  vast  domain 
of  King  Spruce,  or  buys  the  stumpage  on  such  a  tract 
—  Maine  leads  ajl  the  states  of  the  Union  in  spruce 
lumbering,  and  ranks  as  one  of  the  first  half-dozen 
in  pine,  hemlock,  fir,  and  birch,  although  the  giant 
first-growth  pines  which  gave  the  state  its  popular 
name  are  gone — he  engages  a  professional,  college- 
trained  forester  to  supply  him  with  detailed  informa- 
tion. This  expert  takes  a  party  of  a  dozen  to  twenty 
assistants,  and  they  proceed  to  the  township  in  ques- 
tion, where  they  spend  a  month  or  six  weeks  in  survey- 
ing, tracing  maps,  making  photographs,  tabulating 
measurements,  and  so  forth,  and  the  cost  of  their  work 
is  a  most  profitable  investment  for  their  employer. 

The  members  of  these  forestry  parties  are  drawn 
in  part  from  the  various  forestry  schools,  but  they 
always  contain  other  college  boys  who  are  eager  for 
an  opportunity  to  spend  the  summer  in  the  northern 
wilderness,  and  who  are  not  afraid  to  rough  it  when 
occasion  requires.  With  them  there  are  also  expert 
woodsmen  for  the  heavier  work,  and  last,  but  not 
least,  the  cook  and  his  assistant,  for  the  culinary 
department  is  one  of  importance. 


46  A  Vocational  Reader 

The  township  contains  about  twenty-three  thou- 
sand acres,  and  the  main  camp  is  pitched  as  near 
its  center  as  good  water  is  to  be  found.  Usually,  the 
camp  consists  of  several  good-sized  tents,  although 
occasionally  an  abandoned  lumber  camp  is  found, 
which  is  patched  up  and  used  as  headquarters. 
Frequently  small  parties  are  away  from  this  main 
camp  for  two  or  three  days  at  a  time,  and  during 
such  trips  the  boys  live  upon  food  taken  along 
in  a  pack,  and  sleep  at  night  rolled  in  blankets 
beside  the  fire. 

The  work  is  carried  on  by  two  or  three  crews 
of  four  or  five  men  each,  all  under  the  immediate 
direction  of  the  expert  in  command  of  the  party. 
The  boundary  lines  of  the  township  are  accurately 
determined — it  is  six  miles  on  each  of  the  four  sides 
— and  the  corners  marked  by  cedar  posts. 

Along  the  boundary  lines,  mile  stations  are  es- 
tablished, also  marked  by  cedar  posts,  which  are 
numbered.  From  these  posts  lines  are  run  across  the 
township,  being  marked  by  blazed  or  spotted  trees,  and 
at  the  intersection  of  the  lines  more  posts  are  set  up. 

When  the  whole  township  is  thus  divided  into  mile 
blocks,  each  of  the  thirty-six  blocks  is  carefully 
traversed  and  mapped,  photographs  taken  of  the 
different  stands  of  timber,  enough  trees  measured  to 
give  a  basis  for  a  good  estimate  of  the  whole,  streams 
and  relative  elevations  carefully  noted,  and  every 
detail  considered  which  would  affect  the  cutting, 
hauling,  yarding,  and  driving  of  the  logs.  On 
rainy   days   in   camp   the   field   notes   are    written 


With  a  Forestry  Crew  47 

out,  the  finishing  touches  put  on  the  maps,  and 
the   tabulations   and  calculations  made. 

When  that  township  is  finished  there  is  probably 
another  one  to  begin  upon,  and  such  a  party  will 
cover  three,  or  perhaps  four,  in  the  summer  and 
early  fall,  or  close  to  one  hundred  thousand  acres 
of  timber  land.  It  is,  on  the  whole,  a  strenuous 
summer  for  the  college  boys  of  the  party,  for  there 
is  much  tramping,  and  some  places  are  hard  to 
struggle  through. 

But  if  the  bed  js  hard,  the  sleep  is  always  sound; 
if  the  fare  is  coarse,  it  is  eaten  with  a  relish.  It  is 
a  wholesome  life,  and  in  the  fall  every  member  of 
the  party  is  in  superb  physical  condition. 

Nor  is  it  all  hard  work.  There  are  fishing  and 
swimming  in  the  lakes  and  streams,  an  occasional 
adventure  to  enliven  things,  a  forest  fire  to  fight,  a 
new  knowledge  of  nature  and  of  the  many  creatures 
of  the  wilderness,  and  the  frequent  sports  and  frolics 
that  are  inevitable  when  a  company  of  young  men 
are  living  in  the  open  air. 

When  a  party  comes  upon  a  deserted  lumber 
camp,  dilapidated  and  in  ruins,  there  is  a  rare 
opportunity  to  study  the  bird  and  animal  life  of  the 
woods.  For  some  reason,  probably  the  "man 
smell"  of  the  place,  bears,  raccoons,  and  foxes  are 
shy  of  such  camps,  but  almost  everything  else 
that  flies  or  walks  or  crawls  in  the  forest  appears  to 
rejoice  in  it  as  a  ready-made  home.  Porcupines, 
woodchucks,  and  hares  burrow  under  its  flooring 
of  poles,  and  if  it  is  near  a  stream  there  are  likely 


48  A  Vocational  Reader 

to  be  muskrats,  minks,  and  perhaps  an  otter. 
Squirrels,  weasels,  and  mice  are  sure  to  be  there, 
and  of  the  feathered  creatures,  the  woodpecker,  blue 
jay,  chickadee,  nuthatch,  swallow,  and  sparrow; 
and,  less  commonly,  the  hawk  and  owl  make  their 
headquarters  in  and  about  it.  Such  an  old  camp 
in  the  early  summer  presents  an  amusing  ' '  Happy 
Family"  picture. 

One  summer  a  year  or  two  ago  a  small  party, 
on  a  two  days'  trip  from  the  main  camp,  spent  the 
night  in  an  abandoned  lumber  camp  that  was  still 
in  good  enough  condition  to  afford  shelter  from  a 
shower  that  came  up.  In  poking  round,  one  of  the 
boys  dropped  a  lighted  match  into  a  barrel  that  stood 
in  one  corner.  The  contents  at  once  blazed  up  with 
a  peculiar  flame,  and,  to  the  great  mystification  of 
all,  burned  steadily  for  several  hours,  finally  in- 
volving the  old  camp  itself  in  the  conflagration. 
Later,  they  learned  that  the  barrel  had  been  partly 
filled  with  fir  balsam.  It  represented  the  labor  of 
weeks,  perhaps  a  season,  by  some  patient  picker, 
and  had  been  stored  there  for  some  reason,  instead 
of  being  shipped  to  the  drug  market,  where  it 
commands   a  handsome  price. 

Such  incidents  vary  the  monotony  of  work  with 
the  ax,  compass,  surveyor's  chain,  calipers,  barom- 
eter, camera,  and  notebook.  And  when  September 
or  October  comes,  it  is  a  healthy  and  happy  party 
of  muscular  and  bronze-visaged  young  men  who 
leave  the  big  woods  behind,  and  return  again  to  the 
life  of  civilization. — From  The  Youth's  Companion 


<  <    >/ 


The  Boy  Who  Was  "  Diferent"  49 

THE   BOY   WHO   WAS    "DIFFERENT" 

WALTER    E.    ANDREWS 

"I  want  to  talk  with  you  about  that  nephew 
of  yours,  Wilham,"  said  Mrs.  Waddle  to  her  hus- 
band. 

Mr.  Waddle  laid  down  his  newspaper  and  said, 
"WeU?" 

'Dick  will  be  seventeen  years  old  next  month." 
'T  is  n't  his  fauh,  Mandy." 

"He's  getting  to  be  a  young  man,"  Mrs.  Waddle 
declared,  paying  no  attention  to  this  pleasantry. 
"He's, had  a  good  schooling,  and  he's  smart  and 
healthy.  It's  time  he  quit  this  foolishness  of  put- 
tering with  peach  trees;  and  it's  time  you  quit 
backing  him  up  in  it." 

"Me?" 

"It  ain't  anybody  else.  You  rented  him  that 
five-acre  lot,  and  gave  him  the  option  of  buying 
it  at  the  end  of  six  years,  didn't  you?  And  you 
lent  him  forty  dollars  to  buy  trees  with.  And 
you  told  him  that  he  could  use  your  team  and 
tools." 

Mr.  Waddle  shuffled  his  feet  uneasily  on  the 
porch  steps.    He  looked  uncomfortable — and  guilty. 

"You're  Dick's  uncle,"  continued  his  wife. 
"He's  alone  in  the  world,  and  you're  responsible 
for  his  bringing  up.  You  ought  to  squelch  his 
peculiar  notions,  and  make  him  do  as  other  boys 
of  his  age  do." 

"Maybe  so.     Maybe." 
4 


50  A   Vocational  Reader 

"Other  boys  hire  out  as  farm  hands  or  clerk  in 
stores,  or  do  something  else  that's  fitting  to  their 
age.  They  don't  have  queer  notions  about  getting 
land,  and  planting  trees,  and  doing  things  different, 
and  being  'independent.'  " 

"Dick's  different,  that's  all,"  said  Mr.  Waddle. 
"He's  paying  his  board,  isn't  he?" 

"Yes." 

"He  buys  his  clothes,  does  n't  he?" 

"Yes— lately." 

"He's  a  good,  honest  boy?" 

"Yes,  yes." 

"He's  the  best  strawberry  picker  and  the  smartest 
peach  packer  in  the  neighborhood  ? ' ' 

"I  suppose  so." 

"Then  suppose  we  let  him  alone.  It  may  be 
he'll  surprise  us  all  before  he's  many  years  older." 

Richard  Russell  certainly  was  "different."  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Waddle  were  not  the  only  ones  who  said 
it.  The  schoolmaster  said  it,  and  the  Peachville 
neighbors  unanimously  affirmed  it.  His  "oddness" 
asserted  itself  in  many  ways  that  "went  contrary" 
to  the  settled  notions  of  the  good  Michiganders  of 
Peachville  township. 

People  liked  Dick,  but  they  distrusted  his  "odd- 
ness." They  admired  his  frank,  honest  face,  his 
fidelity  to  his  word,  his  industry,  and  his  cheer- 
fulness; but  they  could  not  quite  forgive  the  fact 
that  he  "was  n't  just  like  the  other  boys."  Fruit 
farmers  liked  to  hire  him  by  the  day  at  picking  time 
because  of  his  deft  and  conscientious  work;  but  they 


The  Boy  Who  Was  "  Diferertr  51 

shook  their  heads  doubtfully  when  he  ventured  to 
suggest  some  improvement  here,  some  change  there, 
that,  in  his  opinion,  would  either  facilitate  the  work 
or  render  the  result  more  certain. 

"Why,"  said  Deacon  Pepperton  one  day  to 
Hank  Peters,  confidentially,  "what  do  you  suppose 
that  Russell  fellow  wanted  me  to  do  last  week? 
He  wanted  me  to  let  him  build  a  machine  that  would 
sort  peaches  into  four  different  sizes!  He  called 
the  thing  a  'grader,'  and  said  he'd  seen  a  picture 
of  one  in  some^farm  paper." 

"Did  you  let  him?" 

"Me?  No,  siree!  I  wasn't  going  to  have  my 
peaches  spoiled  by  being  run  through  the  hopper 
of  a  machine.     The  idea!" 

Then  Hank  Peters  told,  with  many  wags  of  the 
head,  how  Richard  Russell  had  once  suggested  the 
making  of  a  basket  turntable  in  the  peach-packing 
shed. 

"Sounds  just  like  him!"  remarked  the  deacon. 
"What  did  he  say  the  thing  would  do  if  he  did 
make  it?" 

"That  it  would  save  work  and  time,"  answered 
Hank,  disdainfully.  "He  was  working  for  me  that 
day,  fastening  on  covers,  and — as  you  know — as 
soon  as  one  end  is  fastened,  the  basket  must  be 
lifted  up  and  turned  round  so  that  you  can  get  at 
it  to  fasten  the  other  end.  Well,  he  worked  away 
an  hour  or  so.  Then  all  of  a  sudden  he  said,  'Mr. 
Peters,  I  could  whittle  out  a  board  the  size  of  a 
basket  bottom,   nail  an  edge  round  the  board  to 


52  A  Vocational  Reader 

hold  the  basket  in  place,  and  mount  the  board  on  a 
pivot  so  that  it  would  swing  just  even  with  the  top 
of  the  packing  table.' 

"  'I  suppose  you  could,'  said  I.     'What  of  it?' 

"  'Why,'  he  said,  'it  would  save  lifting  the  basket. 
All  I  'd  have  to  do  would  be  to  set  the  basket  on  the 
pivot  board,  fasten  one  end  of  the  cover,  swing  her 
round — so — and  there 'd  be  the  other  end  ready 
for  fastening.' 

"  'Young  man,'  I  said,  'I'm  paying  you  a  dollar 
and  a  quarter  a  day  to  work.  Don't  always  be 
looking  for  easy  jobs.' 

"'I  didn't  mean  it  that  way,'  he  answered. 
'I  was  just  trying  to  plan  a  way  that  would  push 
the  work  faster.' 

"  'Much  obliged,'  I  said,  'but  I  ain't  paying 
wages  to  inventors  this  year. '     And  then  he  shut  up. " 

The  deacon  laughed  heartily  at  the  story,  and 
ventured  to  predict  that  William  Waddle  would 
have  a  time  with  that  boy  before  he  got  through. 

The  peach  trees  in  Richard's  orchard  had  been 
planted  three  years.  They  had  grown  into  thrifty, 
beautiful  trees — the  pride  of  Richard's  heart  and 
the  delight  of  Richard's  blue  eyes.  Each  spring  he 
plowed  the  land  and  pruned  the  branches.  Every 
ten  days  throughout  the  season  he  harrowed  the 
ground.  He  studied  books  on  horticulture,  sub- 
scribed to  a  horticultural  paper,  and  kept  his  eyes 
and  ears  open  for  any  information  about  practical 
peach  culture. 

At  odd  times  he  "worked  out"  for  the  neighbors 


The  Boy  Who  Was  "Different'' 


53 


Photograph  by  Eugene  J.  Hall 

Well-cultivated  land  means  loaded  trees,  and  loaded  trees  mean 
increased  profits  to  the  grower 

by  the  day,  thus  earning  enough  money  to  pay  the 
rent  of  his  land  and  his  Hving  expenses.  He  refused 
several  flattering  offers  to  work  by  the  month. 

"I  can't  afford  it,"  he  said  to  one  of  the  farmers 
who  asked  a  reason  for  the  refusal.  "If  I  worked 
by  the  month  I  should  have  to  neglect  my  trees, 
and  it  would  n't  be  wise  to  do  that." 

The  five-acre  piece  of  land  that  Richard  hoped 
some  time  to  own  was  valued  at  seventy-five  dollars 
an  acre,  and  the  rent  that  he  had  to  pay  his  uncle 
was  four  dollars  an  acre.  The  piece  lay  back  from 
the  road,  and  there  were  no  buildings  on  it ;  but  the 
soil  was  well-drained,  high,  and  sandy — ideal  ground 
for  peaches.  It  was  bordered  on  three  sides  by 
prosperous  orchards. 


54  ^  Vocational  Reader 

"If  you  should  want  more  land,"  William  Waddle 
had  said,  "you  can  have  the  front  fifteen  acres  at 
the  same  figure.     I'm  keeping  it  for  you." 

" I  '11  pay  for  the  five  first,"  Richard  had  answered. 
He  believed  that  if  he  could  hold  on  until  the  trees 
were  five  years  old,  the  first  full  crop  would  pay, 
or  nearly  pay,  for  the  five  acres. 

Two  years  passed.  Richard  was  nineteen.  His 
trees  were  entering  their  fifth  summer,  and  seemed 
to  promise  an  excellent  crop.  When  the  trees  blos- 
somed in  the  spring  the  sight  was  like  a  vision  of 
promise  to  the  boy. 

Early  in  that  same  spring  Richard  bought  a  spray 
pump,  and  at  the  proper  time  carefully  sprayed  all 
his  peach  trees.  The  neighbors  laughed,  and  made 
jokes  about  the  "squirt  gun  that  would  poison  all  the 
peaches."  In  those  days  the  art  of  spraying  fruit 
trees  was  in  its  infancy.  Richard  had  read  about  it, 
and  had  written  to  the  state  agricultural  experiment 
station  for  instructions,  which  he  had  carefully 
followed. 

Even  William  Waddle  looked  dubiously  at  the 
squirt-gun  experiments.  "Better  go  slow,"  he  said 
to  Richard. 

"But,  uncle,  the  experiment  station  people  are 
sure  that  spraying  will  prevent  the  leaf  curl.  And 
last  year,  you  know,  one  third  of  the  peach  crop  in 
this  neighborhood  was  lost  by  that  disease." 

"Yes." 

"It's  an  idea  that  seems  worth  trying." 


The  Boy  Who  Was  "Different''  55 

"Maybe  so.  Maybe.  I'm  not  saying  anything 
myself,  but  your  aunt  is  having  seventeen  fits!" 

Later  in  the  season  the  dreaded  leaf  curl  attacked 
almost  every  peach  orchard  in  the  county.  The 
leaves  curled  up  into  fantastic  shapes,  assumed 
strange  colors,  and  finally  dropped  from  the  trees; 
then  many  tiny  peaches  followed  the  leaves.  In 
Richard's  orchard  the  damage  was  insignificant;  in 
the  orchards  of  his  neighbors  more  than  one  half  the 
crop  was  lost. 

"Have  you  seen  Dick  Russell's  orchard?"  asked- 
Mr.  Peters  one  morning,  when  he  met  the  deacon 
on  the  road. 

"Yes.     Have  you?" 

"Went  through  it  yesterday." 

There  was  an  awkward  pause.  Then  the  deacon 
coughed.  "It  begins  to  look,"  he  said,  "as  if  that 
Russell  fellow  was  n't  such  a — "  He  paused  for  a 
word,  hesitated,  and  coughed  again. 

"Yes,  it  does  look  so,"  admitted  Hank.  "Well, 
I  got  to  be  going.  Good  morning,  deacon!  G'long, 
Bess!     G'long!" 

In  early  August,  Richard  bought  ten  dollars' 
worth  of  lumber,  shingles,  and  nails,  and  built  in  his 
orchard  a  small,  rough  packing  shed.  Inside  the 
shed  he  built  a  packing  table,  and  on  that  table  he 
put  a  swinging  pivot  board  such  as  he  had  wished  to 
make  for  Mr.  Peters.  He  also  made  a  rude  peach 
grader — on  the  principle  of  an  inclined  double 
track  with  openings  between  the  rails. 

The  openings  were  as  narrow  at  the  top  as  the 


A   Vocational  Reader 


Photograph  by  Kugene  J.  Hall 

The  shipping  package  was  then  a  close-sided,  slat-covered  basket  and 
often  small  or  unripe  peaches  were  placed  at  the  bottom 

diameter  of  a  small  peach,  and  gradually  became 
wider  toward  the  bottom  of  the  incline.  The 
peaches,  when  poured  into  a  hopper  at  the  top 
of  the  tracks,  rolled  down  and  dropped  through  the 
openings  at  different  stages  of  the  journey,  accord- 
ing to  size.  The  small  peaches  dropped  through 
first,  then  the  medium  size,  then  the  large  ones. 
Only  the  extra  large  peaches  reached  the  basket 
at  the  bottom  of  the  incline.  The  others  fell  into 
one  of  three  canvas  receptacles  immediately 
beneath  the  tracks. 

William  Waddle  whistled  softly  as  he  examined 
this  contrivance.     "Bruise  them  much?"  he  asked. 

"Not  unless  they  are  picked  overripe;  and  you 
know  peaches  shouldn't  be  picked  that   way." 

In  September  the  peach  harvest  began.  But  no 
one  except   Richard  had   more  than  half  a  crop. 


The  Boy  WJio  Was  "Different"  57 

Richard's  trees  were,  as  his  uncle  expressed  it, 
"loaded."  On  hearing  this  statement,  Mrs.  Waddle 
sniffed  disdainfully.  "He'll  spoil  them  all  in  that 
machine  of  his,"  she  prophesied,  "before  he  gets  them 
sold." 

"Maybe,"  said  her  husband. 

When  it  came  to  packing  the  first  peaches,  Richard 
encountered  an  unlooked-for  difficulty.  The  ship- 
ping package  used  in  those  days  was  a  close-sided, 
slat-covered  basket  that  held  one  fifth  of  a  bushel. 
When  packed,  tlTe  buyer  could  see  only  the  top  layer 
of  peaches.  The  custom  among  most  growers,  I 
regret  to  say,  was  to  put  little  peaches  in  the  bottom 
of  the  basket,  medium-sized  peaches  in  the  middle, 
and  big  peaches  on  top. 

Richard  Russell  objected  to  that  custom;  he  said 
it  was  not  honest.  He  proposed  to  pack  each  size 
by  itself,  and  label  the  basket  accordingly — "Fancy," 
"No.  I,"  "No.  2,"  or  "No.  3." 

The  neighbors  laughed  at  the  plan;  and  they 
laughed  at  his  grader.  "You'll  have  your  trouble 
for  your  pains,"  they  said.  "The  buyers  expect 
to  find  little  peaches  in  the  bottom  of  the  baskets, 
and  they  won't  believe  that  your  baskets  are 
any  different  from  others." 

"I'll  label  each  basket,  and  guarantee  it,"  main- 
tained Richard. 

"They  won't  believe  you!" 

"I'll  make  them." 

His  first  shipment  he  graded  carefully,  labeled 
correctly,   and  consigned  to  a  commission  firm  in 


58  A  Vocational  Reader 

Chicago.  A  letter,  explaining  the  system  of  pack- 
ing, accompanied  the  vshipment.  Within  two  days 
the  sales-account  came  back,  with  a  check  to  balance 
the  transaction. 

It  was  a  momentous  occasion  for  Richard.  That 
pink  check  represented  the  first  tangible  return 
from  his  orchard,  the  first  encouragement  after  five 
years  of  planning,  working,  and  hoping.  How  crisp 
the  paper  felt !  How  it  seemed  to  rustle  and  crinkle 
with  golden  promises! 

But  when  he  came  to  figure  the  sales  in  detail 
and  in  comparison  with  the  sales  made  by  various 
peach  growers  in  the  neighborhood,  he  was  greatly 
disappointed  to  find  that  he  had  averaged  no  more 
a  basket  than  his  neighbors  had. 

"Never  mind,  Dick,"  said  his  uncle,  consolingly. 
"It  might  have  been  worse." 

Richard  made  no  reply.  In  his  heart  he  felt 
that  his  method  of  packing  peaches  was  the  only 
correct,  honest  method,  and  that  it  was  bound  to 
win  if — 

Oh,  that  "if"!  Richard  sat  down  in  his  pack- 
ing shed  and  pondered  the  matter.  Picking  up  one 
of  the  peach  baskets,  he  looked  at  it  critically. 
Turning  it  over  and  over,  he  tried  to  put  himself 
in  a  buyer's  place,  and  to  imagine  how  he  would 
feel  if  he  were  purchasing  hundreds  of  baskets  of 
peaches  from  an  unknown  shipper. 

"Should  I  have  time  to  unpack  and  examine 
every  basket?"  he  mused.  "No,  I  'm  afraid  I 
should  n't.     Should  I  be  willing  to  trust  a  label  or 


The  Boy  Who  Was  "Different''  59 

a  guarantee  in  a  letter?  Probably  not!  What 
should  I  do,  then?  Pay  the  shipper  the  average 
market  price  for  mixed  packing?     Of  course!" 

Then  he  thought,  "If  I  were  going  to  pay  a 
shipper  an  extra  price  for  an  extra  product,  I  'd 
want  to  see  the  fruit  packed,  or  else  I  'd  want  to 
see  the  bottom  and  middle  layers  of  every  basket 
after  it  was  packed." 

Seizing  a -knife,  he  slashed  into  one  side  of  the 
basket  in  his  hand  and  made  a  vertical  opening 
about  an  inch  aijd  a  half  wide  in  the  thin  wood. 
Then,  on  the  other  side  of  the  handle,  he  made  a 
similar  opening.  Turning  the  basket  round,  he 
cut  two  corresponding  openings  in  the  opposite  side. 

"I  've  got  it!"  he  cried,  joyfully,  and  swung  the 
basket  round  his  head  as  if  it  were  a  flag  of  victory. 
And  sure  enough,  he  had  "got  it."  Experiment 
showed  that  peaches  packed  in  such  a  basket  could 
be  as  easily  inspected  underneath  as  on  top;  a 
buyer  had  only  to  look  to  be  convinced.  And — 
although  Richard  did  not  realize  it  at  the  time — 
the  open-sided  basket  was  destined  to  become  the 
standard  peach-shipping  package  of  Michigan. 

That  evening  Richard  explained  the  idea  to  his 
uncle.  William  Waddle  Hstened  attentively,  while 
his  wife  blew  her  nose  suspiciously. 

"Doesn't  it  weaken  the  basket?"  asked  Mr. 
Waddle. 

"Not  perceptibly." 

"Is  n't  it  a  lot  of  work  to  cut  the  slits?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Waddle. 


6o  A   Vocational  Reader 

"I  can  do  a  hundred  baskets  in  forty  minutes. 
I  tried  it  this  afternoon." 

Mrs.  Waddle  laid  down  her  knitting  and  looked 
at  her  husband.  "William,  how  much  do  a  hundred 
baskets  cost?" 

"About  two  dollars  and  a  half." 

"I  hope  you  haven't  spoiled  two  dollars  and  a 
half  worth  of  baskets,"  said  Mrs.  Waddle. 

The  following  morning  Richard  shipped  one  hun- 
dred baskets  of  graded  peaches  packed  in  the  new 
baskets.  He  consigned  the  shipment  to  the  same 
Chicago  commission  firm,  and  inclosed  a  brief 
letter  of  explanation. 

In  a  few  days  he  received  a  personal  letter  from 
the  manager  of  the  firm,  complimenting  him  on  his 
"unique,  honest  packing,"  and  promising  extra  prices 
for  all  peaches  thus  graded  and  packed.  Inclosed 
in  the  letter  was  a  generous  check,  based  on  a  rate 
considerably  higher  than  the  prevailing  market  price. 

Richard,  after  supper  that  night,  handed  the 
letter  to  his  uncle,  William  Waddle  read  it,  winked 
one  eye  rapidly,  and  passed  the  letter  to  his  wife. 
She  took  it  gingerly,  put  on  her  glasses,  and  read 
it  through.     Then  she  resumed  her  knitting. 

"Eh?"  said  Mr.  Waddle,  after  a  long  pause. 

"I  didn't  say  anything,"  said  Mrs.  Waddle. 

"Are  you  going  to  say  anything?"  her  husband 
ventured  to  ask. 

"No;  nothing  in  particular."  But  later  in  the 
evening  she  said  good  night  to  Dick  in  a  gentler 
tone  than  usual. 


How  John  Miiir  Became  an  Explorer  6i 

At  the  end  of  the  peach  season  Dick's  bankbook 
showed  a  balance  of  four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
to  his  credit.  He  felt  like  a  millionaire.  It  was 
a  happy  moment  for  the  boy  when  one  morning 
he  handed  his  uncle  a  check  for  three  hundred 
and  seventy-five  dollars,  in  full  payment  for  the 
five-acre  piece  of  land. 

"I'm  proud  of  you!"  said  Mr.  Waddle.  "I'll 
have  a  deed  made  out  at  once." 

Mrs.  Waddl®-  said  not  a  word.  But  that  same 
morning  she  made  a  big  spicecake,  frosted  it  care- 
fully, and  outlined  on  top,  with  raisins,  a  huge  "D.  " 
At  dinner  Dick  found  the  cake  majestically  reposing 
on  his  plate.  He  gave  his  aunt  a  quick  look  of 
surprise,  but  she  seemed  not  to  notice. 

"Is  it  for  me?"  he  asked,  bewildered. 

She  nodded. 

Getting  up  from  the  table,  Dick  kissed  his  aunt 
affectionately  on  the  cheek. 

"Shoo-o-o!"  whistled  William.  Then,  under  his 
breath,  he  muttered,  "I  wonder  whether  that  'D' 
stands  for  'Dick'  or  for  'Different'?" 

— From  The  Youth's  Companion 

HOW  JOHN  MUIR  BECAME  AN  EXPLORER 

ADAPTED 

As  a  little  lad,  John  Muir  lived  in  Dunbar  in 
Scotland,  on  the  shore  of  the  stormy  North  Sea. 
By  the  time  he  was  six  years  old,  whenever  there 
was  no  school  and  no  work  to  do  at  home  he  used 


62 


A   Vocational  Reader 


Photograph  by  Kiug  Print  Co. 


Two  great  naturalists,  John  Mtdr  and  John  Burroughs,  whose  love 
of  outdoors  made  life  a  long,  glorious  exploring  trip 

to  wander  off  with  other  playmates  as  wild  as 
himself,  to  hear  the  birds  sing,  to  pick  up  shells  and 
seaweed  on  the  shore,  to  look  for  eels  and  crabs  in 
the  salt  pools,  or  to  watch  the  great  waves  as  they 
came  thundering  in  against  the  black  crag  on  which 
stands  the  ruin  of  the  old  Dunbar  Castle. 

As  the  lad  grew  older  he  made  longer  excur- 
sions. Often,  in  the  crisp  bright  days  of  autumn, 
an  entire  neighborhood  of  tough  little  Scots  would 
start  from  home,  and  running  steadily  hour  after 
hour,  would  cover  ten  and  twenty  miles  in  an 
afternoon. 

One  night  after  the  mother   had    tucked    away 


How  John  Mnir  Became  an  Explorer  63 

John  and  his  younger  brother  David  in  their  old- 
fashioned  curtained  bed  in  their  Httle  attic  room, 
the  wind  made  such  a  howhng  that  the  boys  could 
not  sleep.  So  after  lying  long  awake,  they  got  up, 
and  found  amusement  by  letting  themselves  out 
the  window  and  hanging  by  one  hand  from  the  sill, 
while  the  cold  wind  made  balloons  of  their  night 
clothes.  Not  satisfied  with  that,  they  climbed  up 
the  steep  slate  roof,  creeping  along  by  the  slightest 
finger  holds,  until  they  were  astride  the  ridge  pole. 
And  when  they^ad  enough  of  this,  they  slid  down 
the  roof,  caught  the  sill  of  their  window  as  they 
shot  by,  and  pulled  themselves  into  safety. 

Years  later,  after  John  Muir  had  become  a  famous 
explorer,  and  many  a  time  risked  his  neck  on  the 
peaks  and  precipices  of  the  great  mountains  of  the 
world,  he  came  back  to  Scotland,  went  to  his  old 
house,  and  tried  again  this  night  adventure  of  his 
boyhood.  But  he  found  that  what  he  had  done  in 
his  daring  youth  was  now  beyond  his  skill. 

In  these  various  ways,  John  Muir  both  came  to 
love  the  out-of-door  world  and  built  up  the  great 
bodily  strength  and  endurance,  the  self-reliance  and 
courage,  which  he  needed  in  his  life  work. 

In  his  school  reader  were  stories  of  adventure, 
accounts  of  strange  animals  and  new  countries. 
Even  more  interesting  to  him  were  the  descriptions 
in  his  school  geography,  especially  whatever  had 
to  do  with  America.  To  the  Scotch  lad  it  seemed 
equally  marvelous  that  men  should  dig  gold  out  of  the 
earth  and  get  sugar  from  the  sap  of  a  maple  tree. 


64  A   Vocational  Reader 

One  evening  when  the  two  boys  were  sitting  by 
their  grandfather's  fireside,  busy  with  their  usual 
evening  lessons,  their  father  entered  with  the  most 
wonderful  news  that  two  wild  boys  ever  heard. 

"Bairns,"  he  said,"  you  needna  learn  your  lessons 
the  nicht,  for  we're  gan  to  America  the  morn!" 

The  family  joined  a  party  of  emigrants,  sailed  to 
New  York,  and  from  there  went  into  what  was 
then  the  Wisconsin  wilderness.  They  chose  a  tract 
of  fertile  land,  with  sunny  woods  and  open  meadows, 
and  best  of  all,  in  the  boys'  opinion,  a  beautiful 
lake  and  a  small  river.  Here  they  built  a  little 
cabin  of  oak  logs,  cleared  the  land,  and  started  crops. 

Everything  was  new,  wonderful,  and  adventurous. 
The  first  time  that  John  saw  a  meadow  sparkling  with 
lightning  bugs  on  a  summer  night,  he  would  not 
believe  his  eyes,  but  thought  he  must  have  been 
hit  on  the  head  and  was  "seeing  stars."  The  real 
stars,  also,  were  far  brighter  than  in  stormy  Scotland, 
while  besides  these  there  were  the  glorious  auroras 
of  the  winter  nights. 

Wild  strawberries,  huckleberries,  cranberries, 
hazelnuts,  hickory  nuts,  and  maple  sugar  were  all 
new  to  these  boys  from  the  Old  World.  They  had 
never  even  had  the  chance  to  go  swimming  in  warm, 
quiet  water,  and  had  to  learn  to  swim  after  they 
came  to  America.  After  a  while,  John  became  so 
skillful  that  he  could  keep  afloat  all  day,  and  used 
to  go  off  on  exploring  trips  along  the  lake  shore, 
swimming  steadily  for  hours  at  a  time. 

Afterwards,  John  Muir  went  to  the  university  and 


How  John  Miiir  Became  an  Explorer 


65 


Tillotson  &  Terrell 

John  Muir  teaching  a  nature,  class  in  the   Yosemite 

studied  to  be  an  engineer.  But  he  loved  outdoors 
too  much  to  shut  himself  into  an  office.  So  he  took 
the  outside  end  of  the  business,  and  left  the  inside 
to  other,  less  hardy  men.  His  work  was  to  map 
unknown  country,  to  hunt  through  mountains  and 
wilderness  for  the  best  places  to  run  highways  and 
railway  lines,  to  look  for  signs  of  mineral  wealth 
so  that  mines  might  be  opened. 

This  employment  took  him  into  all  parts  of  the 
world,  but  chiefly  into  the  less  known  parts  of  our 
own  West,  and  into  Alaska.  The  great  Muir 
Glacier  on  the  Alaskan  coast  is  named  for  him. 
Sometimes    he    traveled    with    one    or    two    white 


66  ^4   ]'ocaiw}ial  Reader 

companions  in  canoes  paddled  by  Indians;  some- 
times he  went  alone  with  no  company  but  a  dog  and 
a  laden  mule.  He  lived  so  much  in  the  wilderness 
that  his  sense  of  direction  became  like  that  of  a 
wild  animal;  so  that,  no  matter  where  he  went,  in 
darkness  or  fog  or  thick  woods,  he  never  had  the 
least  fear  of  getting  lost. 

He  never  thought  of  this  as  being  the  hard  toil 
that  it  really  was.  He  had  begun  to  run  about  the 
country  as  a  boy,  to  climb  house  roofs  and  the  ruins 
of  Dunbar  Castle,  and  to  "endure  hardness  like  a 
good  soldier."  He  had  toughened  himself  with  long 
hours  of  heavy  farm  work  in  the  Wisconsin  wilder- 
ness. He  had  studied  hard  to  prepare  himself  for 
his  work.  Then,  having  made  ready,  as  he  himself 
has  expressed  it,  "I  wandered  off  on  a  glorious 
exploring  trip,  which  has  lasted  fifty  years  and  is 
not  yet  completed." 

THE  MAN  WHO  NAMED  MOUNT 
WHITNEY 

EDWIN    T.    BREWSTER 

Every  one  who  has  studied  geography  is  supposed 
to  know  that  Mt.  Whitney  is  the  highest  peak  in 
the  "continuous"  United  States.  Fourteen  thou- 
sand five  hundred  feet  it  towers  above  sea  level, 
the  loftiest  point  of  land  between  the  great  volcanoes 
of  Mexico  and  the  snow-clad  peaks  of  Alaska. 

The  man  who  discovered  Mt.  Whitney,  and  by 
right  of  discovery  gave  it  its  name,  is  a  striking 


The  Alan  Who  Named  Mount  Whitney  67 

example  of  a  youth  of  twenty  who  did  not  in  the  least 
know  what  he  wanted  to  do  for  a  living,  stumbled 
across  a  suitable  vocation,  and  went  on  with  it  to 
the  very  highest  success. 

He  was  a  city-bred  boy,  Clarence  King  by  name, 
who  was  a  man  grown  and  a  graduate  from  an 
engineering  college  almost  before  he  had  ever  been 
off  paved,  streets.  But  he  had  leisure,  money,  and 
much  thirst  for  adventure;  and  so,  the  summer 
after  he  left  t]je  scientific  school,  and  just  by  way 
of  a  lark,  he  started  for  California. 

This  was  in  the  sixties,  before  the  days  of  railroads 
in  the  West,  and  the  only  way  to  get  overland  was 
to  join  an  emigrant  train  and  take  one's  chances  of 
being  scalped  by  Indians  on  the  way.  King's  train 
got  as  far  as  Nevada,  and  came  to  grief.  But  he, 
with  two  other  young  fellows,  kept  on  across  the 
mountains  on  foot. 

On  their  way  down  from  Virginia  City,  just 
by  the  purest  chance,  they  ran  across  a  party  of  sur- 
veyors who  were  exploring  and  mapping  a  coun- 
try which  was  then  virtually  unknown  except  to  a 
few  hunters  and  miners.  Oddly  enough,  the  chief 
of  the  party  turned  out  to  be  one  of  King's  old 
college  teachers.  He  had  been  locating  mountains 
in  the  Sierra  Nevada  until  he  had  worn  down 
his  party  to  a  single  packer.  Would  King  take 
a  hand  for  his  board  ?  — ■  the  professor  reckoned 
he  would  not  be  worth  any  more.  Why,  yes,  the 
thing  looked  amusing.  Why  not  practice  what 
he   had   been   taught  at  school  ? 


Courtesy  of  U.S.  Geological  Survey 

Clarence  King 

A  mail  whose  thirst  for  adventure  and  love  for  the  freedom 
of  outdoor  life  led  to  great  achievements 


The  Man  Who  Named  Mount  Whitney  69 

King  took  to  mountaineering  life  like  a  duck  to 
water.  He  could  climb  any  surface  to  which  human 
fingers  and  toes  could  cling,  while  the  immediate 
prospect  of  breaking  his  neck  seemed  never  to 
trouble  him  in  the  least.  So  he  stayed  on,  and 
became  a  permanent  member  of  the  Survey. 

There  were  twenty  or  thirty  surveyors  in  all, 
besides  the  packers  and  drivers  and  cooks  and  camp 
assistants.  They  went  out  in  small  parties,  half  a 
dozen  together,  and  their  work  was  to  explore  the 
country,  study  the  rocks,  the  minerals,  the  forests, 
and 'the  wild  animals,  and  finally  to  make  an  accu- 
rate plan  of  the  country  so  the  state  of  California 
might  know  what  it  had  within  its  borders.  In  two 
years  this  old  California  Geological  Survey  added 
to  the  known  area  of  the  United  States  a  region  as 
large  as  Massachusetts  and  as  high  as  Switzerland. 

Many  of  these  surveyors  were,  like  Clarence 
King,  young  fellows  just  out  of  college.  They 
tramped  the  forests,  and  they  climbed  the  moun- 
tains. When  one  of  them  discovered  a  new  peak, 
he  was  as  likel}^  as  not  to  name  it  after  some  other 
micmber  of  his  party  or  after  one  of  his  college 
teachers  or  the  author  of  some  textbook  which 
he  had  just  left  off  studying.  To  this  day,  any  one 
who  looks  over  the  map  of  California  will  find  that 
these  great  twelve-and  thirteen-thousand-foot  peaks 
nearly  all  bear  the  names  of  men.  Every  member  of 
the  Survey  has  some  monument.  Mt.  Brewer  is 
named  for  the  man  w^hom  King  encountered  on  his 
way  from  Virginia  City.     The  lovely  Lake  Eleanor 


70  A  Vocational  Reader 

in  the  famous  Hetch-Hetchy  Valley  is  called  after 
"the  little  girl  daughter"  of  one  of  the  older  men. 

The  next  year  after  King  joined  the  Survey,  he 
was  sent  up  through  what  is  now  the  Yosemite  Park 
into  the  great  knot  of  mountains  beyond.  The  party 
made  its  way  as  far  as  Mt.  Brewer — and  there  they 
stopped.  On  the  other  side  of  the  crest,  cut  like  a 
great  gash  in  the  earth,  lay  the  cafion  of  King's  River. 

But  across  the  cafion  towered  a  new  mountain, 
one  of  the  highest  in  the  range — and  orders  were  to 
measure  all  important  heights.  So  King  and  one 
other  man,  the  next  best  climber  of  the  party, 
lowered  themselves  on  a  lasso  over  the  precipice, 
trusting  Fate  to  get  them  up  again.  They  made 
their  way  along  a  knife-like  ridge,  camped  above 
twelve  thousand  feet  on  the  bare  granite  without 
fire,  ate  their  food  frozen,  and  risked  their  lives  a 
dozen  times  a  day.  But  they  climbed  their  moun- 
tain, and  named  it  Tyndall,  after  a  famous  English 
man  of  science  who  had  climbed  in  the  Alps. 

From  the  top  of  Tyndall,  looking  still  farther  into 
the  wilderness  of  mountains,  they  descried  another 
still  loftier  peak.  This  they  called  Mt.  Whitney, 
after  the  head  of  the  California  Survey,  whose  name 
they  had  been  saving  for  something  worth  while. 
That  is  how  the  highest  peak  in  the  United  States 
came  to  be  named. 

It  was  not,  however,  until  long  afterwards  that 
anybody  knew  how  high  it  is.  King  tried  in  vain  to 
climb  it  on  this  trip.  Later  he  tried  again  and  failed, 
and   it  was  not    until  nine  years  afterwards  that 


The  Man  Who  Named  Mount  Whitney 


71 


%..  ">>- 


Courtisy  of  I'.  S.  (leological  Survey 

Mapping  out  unexplored  regions  has  a  fascination  for  hardy, 
self-reliant,  adventurous  men  who  love  the  great  out-of-doors 

another  mountaineer  ascended  from  the  other  side. 
Meantime  King  and  his  companion,  after  great 
hardships,  managed  to  get  back  safely  to  the 
main  party.  But  it  took  them  about  a  week  to  cover 
some  twenty  miles. 


72  A   Vocalioial  Reader 

After  this  experience,  King  adopted  geological 
surveying  for  his  life  work.  When  he  had  finished 
with  California  he  went  down  into  Arizona.  There 
the  Apaches  captured  the  whole  party,  tied  them 
to  stakes,  and  were  just  on  the  point  of  burning 
them,  when  a  company  of  United  States  troopers 
appeared  and  gave  the  Indians  something  else  to 
think  about. 

King  did  so  well  in  Arizona  that  when  he  was 
barely  twenty -five  Congress  set  him  at  work  study- 
ing the  line  of  the  proposed  Pacific  Railroad,  at  the 
head  of  what  is  called  the  Fortieth  Parallel  Survey. 
This  was  a  very  famous  piece  of  work  in  its  day. 
It  lasted  ten  years,  and  mapped  in  more  than  eighty 
thousand  square  miles  of  country,  in  a  broad  strip 
a  hundred  miles  wide,  from  the  east  base  of  the 
Sierra  Nevada  around  Great  Salt  Lake  and  as  far 
east  as  Denver. 

After  that,  King  was  made  first  head  of  the 
United  States  Geological  Survey,  though  even  then 
he  was  only  thirty-seven.  All  the  exploring  and 
mapping  and  searching  for  precious  metals  and  oil 
that  was  done  by  the  government  anywhere  was 
under  his  charge.  He  was  the  man  who  decided 
that  the  great  western  highland  of  the  American 
continent  should  be  called  the  Cordilleran;  and  he 
laid  the  foundation  for  the  great  inch-to-a-mile  map 
on  which  the  government  has  been  at  work  for  more 
than  twenty  years  and  has  not  yet  half  finished. 

Was  it  all  luck  that  Clarence  King  found  his 
work,  and  became  in  his  own  field  perhaps  the  most 


The  Man  Who  Named  Mount  Whitney 


73 


Courtesy  of  U.  S.  Geologica!  Survey. 

A  party  of  surveyors  at  work  on  a  mountain  side.     There  is  still 
plenty  of  litis  kind  of  work,  for  hardy,  self-reliant  men 

eminent  man  in  the  entire  world?  Probably  not. 
He  was  an  able  and  well-trained  man,  and  he  was 
watching  sharply  for  his  particular  niche  in  the 
world's  work.  He  was  late  in  finding  his  chance — 
but  he  knew  when  his  call  came. 

There  is  plenty  of  work  left  for  men  of  his  sort 
even  in  our  own  country.  South  America,  Africa, 
China  are  still  to  be  provided  with  highways,  rail- 
roads, and  bridges;  portions  of  them  are  hardly 
yet  explored  or  mapped.  There  was  never  a  time 
when  a  hardy,  adventurous,  self-reliant  man,  trained 
to  almost  any  useful  profession,  has  found  greater 
opportunity  "in  the  ends  of  all  the  earth." 


74  -^  Vocational  Reader 

TRAPPED   BY  THE   WIRE 

ALBERT   W.    TOLMAN 

"Diving,"  said  Adam  Kerwin,  manager  of  the 
Dirigo  Wrecking  Company,  "is  a  mighty  tickhsh 
business.  A  diver  can't  have  too  many  brains, 
for  he's  got  to  look  out  all  the  time  and  not  get 
nipped.  Above  all,  it  's  a  careful  man's  job.  The 
risky  fellows  don't  last  very  long.  By  and  by  they 
take  one  chance  too  many,  and  either  don't  get  out 
at  all,  or,  if  they  do,  they  're  so  frightened  that 
their  nerve  is  gone,  and  they  're  never  any  good 
again.  Yet  sometimes  even  a  careful  man  is  liable 
to  be  caught. 

"In  October,  1891,  a  telegram  called  me  east  of 
Mount  Desert,  to  save  what  I  could  from  the 
German  iron  ship,  Bremerhaven,  which  had  been 
wrecked  on  a  group  of  ledges  called  the  Burying 
Ground,  not  far  from  Cutler.  She  had  come  across 
to  St.  John  for  a  cargo  of  spool  wood,  and  her  cap- 
tain had  mistaken  his  bearings  on  a  foggy  morning, 
and  run  in  too  near. 

"I  reached  the  spot  just  as  a  fall  gale  was  making 
up.  Among  divers  it  had  a  bad  name,  for  it  was  a 
jumble  of  peaked  rocks,  some  close  to  the  surface, 
others  far  below,  crisscrossed  with  valleys  through 
which  ran  strong  submarine  currents,  varying  with 
the  rise  and  fall  of  a  fifteen-foot  tide. 

"The  swell,  heaving  across  the  nubbles,  made 
a  heavy  surf  in  spots.     Fortunately,  however,  the 


Trapped  by  the  Wire  75 

ship  lay  in  a  calm  aisle  between  two  reefs  in  about 
eight  fathoms;  so  I  expected  to  be  able  to  strip 
her  without  very  much  trouble. 

"'A  diver's  time  runs  into  money  fast.  The  tide 
was  falling,  and  I  wanted  to  do  everything  I  could 
before  it  got  too  rough  to  work.  So  I  hurried  on 
my  togs. 

"The  eaptain  and  part  owner,  a  Hamburger 
by  the  name  of  Julius  Schermerhorn,  was  there, 
too.  What  h®-  cared  for  particularly  was  a  small 
safe ,  in  his  cabin,  containing  all  his  papers  and 
money ;  that  meant  a  good  deal  to  him  for  the  sake 
of  several  little  Hanses  and  Gretchens  in  the  old 
country.  Some  other  diver  would  get  it  if  I  did  n't. 
It  was  my  first  year  alone,  so  I  felt  more  like 
taking   risks  than   I   might  now. 

"Soon  I  dropped  overboard.  It  was  a  dark 
day,  and  I  had  my  electric  lamp.  Down  I  sank 
through  the  dark-green  water,  my  lantern  shedding 
a  dim  light.  Presently  I  saw  the  Bremerhaven 
plump  under  me,  resting  on  her  keel  and  starboard 
side.  Her  topmasts  and  spars  were  all  in  a  mess, 
and  her  iron  masts  lay  across  her  deck. 

"Suddenly  out  of  the  blackness  where  my  feet 
were  pointed  grew  a  mass  like  a  big  bird's  nest. 
It  was  the  wire  rigging,  twisted  and  tangled  and 
wound  up  in  every  way  you  can  think  of,  and  in 
a  good  many  others  neither  you  nor  anybody 
else  could  imagine,  warped  by  the  tumbling  of  the 
masts  and  the  pounding  of  the  seas. 

"I  jerked  my  line  quickly,  and  stopped.     A  little 


76 


A  Vocational  Reader 


Photograph  by  Paul  Thompson 

Freparing  for  a  dive  into  mysterious  depths 

more,  and  I  should  have  gone  into  the  tangle  feet 
first,  and  perhaps  got  caught  so  that  I  could  never 
have  extricated  myself.  My  men  hauled  me  up, 
and  shifted  the  boat  a  trifle,  and  I  went  down  again. 
This  time  I  alighted  on  the  slanting  quarter-deck, 
just  aft  of  the  cabin. 


Trapped  by  the  Wire  77 

"The  end  of  the  bird's  nest  overhung  the  open 
companion  way  threateningly.  It  was  a  fearful 
snarl  of  rope  and  wire  and  broken  wood,  festooned 
with  long  streamers  of  kelp,  swaying  in  the  under- 
tow. It  looked  for  all  the  world  like  the  tangled 
tentacles  of  a  devil  fish,  only  I  knew  those  ten- 
tacles were  stiff  steel,  not  pliant  flesh.  As  my 
lantern  shone  into  it,  it  seemed  like  a  bunch  of 
petrified  snakes. 

"I  didn't  haif  like  the  idea  of  going  down  into 
that  gloomy,  uninviting  hole,  but  a  diver  must  take 
some  chances.  The  forward  entrance  to  the  cabin, 
buried  deep  under  the  wire,  was  simply  out  of  the 
question.  It  was  the  after  companionway,  or 
nothing;  and  I  had  come  too  far  and  at  too  great 
expense  to  give  up  now. 

"Grasping  one  of  the  loops  with  both  hands 
I  gave  it  a  shake;  but  it  seemed  firm  as  the  deck 
on  which  I  stood. 

"The  undertow  was  increasing  slightly  as  the 
tide  fell,  but  I  felt  sure  that  the  mass  was  too 
heavy  and  too  firmly  caught  over  the  cabin  to  be 
disturbed.  So  I  decided  to  go  below.  Throwing 
my  lantern  ray  into  the  companion,  I  picked  my 
way  cautiously  down  the  slimy  steps. 

' '  Nobody  had  been  there  since  Captain  Schermer- 
horn  came  up  on  the  run  a  month  before.  He  had 
tried  to  get  into  his  safe,  but  there  had  n't  been 
time.  It  was  his  life  or  his  money,  and  he  naturally 
chose  his  life. 

"The  door  at  the  bottom  stood  open.     The  cabin 


78  A  Vocational  Reader 

was  in  a  sorry  mess,  everything  that  would  float 
being,  of  course,  hard  up  against  the  ceiHng.  I 
crossed  the  floor,  and  presently  stood  in  the  captain's 
room. 

"How  dark  and  lonesome  and  creepy  it  was! 
Queer  little  shivers  went  flushing  over  me.  I  had 
a  feeling  as  if  somebody  were  at  my  shoulder,  or 
as  if  something  might  spring  at  me  out  of  the  gloom. 
All  the  tales  I  had  ever  heard  about  cuttlefish  and 
other  sea  monsters  ran  through  my  mind.  A  pre- 
monition of  danger  came  to  me,  but  I  shook  it  off 
as  foolish. 

"There  was  the  safe  close  to  the  captain's  desk. 
The  key  was  in  the  lock,  but  the  door,  rusted  by 
the  water,  would  not  open  till  I  tapped  it  with  my 
hatchet.  Then  it  turned  on  its  hinges,  and  I 
stooped  to  peer  inside. 

"Suddenly  I  became  conscious  of  a  grating,  a 
rubbing  on  the  roof  of  the  cabin  over  my  head. 
An  odd,  inexplicable  dread  struck  a  panic  in  me. 
Instinct  told  me  something  was  wrong.  I  must 
get  out.  No  man  ever  lifted  lead  shoes  faster  than 
I  did  the  next  thirty  seconds. 

"I  had  just  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs  when 
athwart  the  twilight  that  steamed  down  the  com- 
panionway,  vying  with  my  lantern,  fell  a  shadow. 
Then  over  the  opening  shot  a  mass  of  black  bands 
and  arms.     The  devil  fish  had  come  to  life! 

' '  Its  horrid  antennae  were  moving ;  its  tentacles, 
as  if  endowed  with  a  malignant  intelligence,  were 
stretching  across  my  only  road  to  safety. 


Trapped  by  the  Wire  79 

"At  once  I  realized  what  had  occurred.  The 
undercurrent,  increasing  with  the  ebb,  had  set  the 
mass  in  motion.  Presently  it  would  cover  the  entire 
door.     If  I  had  only  been  half  a  minute  sooner! 

"Up  the  stairs  I  hurried.  There  was  still  a  little 
space  when  I  reached  the  top  step,  but  it  was  narrow- 
ing, narrowing.  I  plunged  forward,  almost  decided 
to  attempt  a  leap  through,  but  stopped  just  in  time. 
The  wire  weighed  tons.  If  it  jammed  me  against 
the  casing,  it  w^uld  crack  me  like  an  eggshell. 

"A  new  horror  seized  me  as  I  shrank  back.  My 
hose, '  my  life  line !  The  two  slender  bonds  that 
linked  me  with  the  upper  air,  the  only  things  that 
made  it  possible  for  me  to  be  there  at  all,  lay  on  the 
deck  at  the  mercy  of  that  moving  coil. 

"Steadily,  irresistibly,  it  surged  back  and  forth. 
It  caught  my  lines,  it  drew  them  taut,  dragging  me 
forward  to  my  knees,  almost  pulling  me  head  fore- 
most into  the  tangle  outside  the  doorway;  then  it 
relaxed,  and  I  stood  up.  Again  and  again  the  same 
thing  happened.  This  could  not  last.  It  might 
loosen  the  couplings  of  the  hose,  it  might  strip  the 
threads,  and  death  would  come  quickly  down  there 
behind  that  wire  wall. 

' '  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  really  felt  afraid 
under  water;  and  I  had  good  reason.  But  I  also 
had  the  sense  to  keep  cool.  If  a  diver  loses  his 
head,  he  's  gone.  Bowing  backward  and  forward 
to  the  pull  of  the  cords,  I  wondered  what  I  could  do. 

"I  knew  that  my  men  in  the  boat  must  suspect 
something  was  wrong,  for  they  could  feel  the  lines 


So  A   Vocational  Reader 

move.  But  I  could  neither  send  nor  receive  any 
signals.  Back  and  forth  seesawed  the  wire,  a  space 
on  the  left  of  the  companionway  opening  and  clos- 
ing, tempting  me  to  jump  through.  Had  the  hole 
been  a  foot  wider,  I  would  n't  have  hesitated  a 
second;    but  it  was  too  frightfully  narrow. 

"Still,  I  did  try  it — just  once.  The  coil  leaped 
back,  and  pinned  me  against  the  casing.  One  sharp, 
ugly  end  punched  my  side.  Another  caught  my 
head  as  in  a  vise,  and  squeezed  it  till  my  helmet 
crunched;  only  a  little  more,  and  it  would  have 
given  way. 

"I  got  back,  excited,  panting.  My  effort  had 
tangled  my  life  line  still  worse.  The  next  pull 
almost  snatched  me  out  into  the  coil.  I  could  n't 
stand  that.  I  must  cut,  or  it  might  finish  me. 
With  my  hatchet  I  severed  one  of  the  two  links 
that  bound  me  to  life,  and  the  hose  alone  was 
left. 

"The  wire  was  shifting;  it  was  moving  farther 
across  the  door.  Now  it  did  n't  get  back  far  enough 
to  leave  any  opening  at  all.  Suddenly  a  loop, 
rubbing  along  the  deck,  jammed  my  hose.  Things 
were  getting  desperate.  The  air  grew  thick.  My 
minutes,  my  seconds  were  numbered.  I  should  die 
miserably  unless  I  gained  my  freedom  at  once. 

"Then  the  loop  moved,  leaving  my  hose  free; 
and  unexpectedly  I  saw  a  chance  to  dodge  under 
the  coil.  I  took  that  chance.  Suffocation  was  not 
far  away,  and  I  had  no  time  to  vacillate. 

"Did  you  ever  crawl  under  a  barbed-wire  fence? 


Trapped  by  the  Wire  8i 

If  so,  you'll  understand  something  about  how  I  felt, 
dreading  every  minute  to  have  a  sharp  point  catch 
and  stop  me.  Only  my  fence  was  moving,  while 
yours  was  still;  and  your  life  did  n't  hang  on  getting 
through,  but  mine  did. 

"A  strand  brushed  my  shoulder.  I  flattened 
myself,  and  wriggled  on.  I  never  knew  before  that 
I  could  make  myself  so  thin.  The  air  was  frightful. 
I  should  lose  my  senses  in  a  minute  more.  One 
horrible,  merciless  point  ran  into  the  back  of  my 
suit — nailed  m'fe  there.  I  writhed  and  cringed.  If 
it  did  n't  let  go  quick,  all  was  over. 

"Just  as  I  was  giving  up  hope,  it  let  go.  I 
crawled  forward.  Back  it  surged  and  pinched. 
But  I  wrenched  away  just  in  time,  and  fell  on  my 
lantern  on  the  deck,  free  at  last. 

"For  a  moment  I  lay  there  in  the  dark  on  that 
cold,  slimy  iron,  with  the  wire  swaying  over  me  in 
the  strong  undertow,  and  the  air  getting  worse 
every  second.  Then  I  staggered  to  my  feet,  and 
gave  the  signal  on  the  hose  to  be  pulled  up. 

"Unconsciousness  was  at  hand,  but  I  had  sense 
enough  to  realize  that  my  life  might  depend  on  my 
action  in  the  next  five  seconds;  and  fortunately  I 
knew  just  what  to  do. 

' '  When  a  diver  finds  that  his  air  supply  is  cut  off, 
the  best  thing  for  him  is  to  take  a  full  breath,  and 
then,  just  before  he  signals  to  be  pulled  up,  to 
smash  his  glass  with  his  hatchet  and  let  the  water 
into  his  helmet.  When  he  can't  hold  his  breath 
any  longer,  he'll  have  to  fill  his  lungs  with  water 

6 


International  News  Service 


This  creature  is  not  a  strange  marine  animal  dragged  to  the  light 
at  the  end  of  a  rope,  but  a  human  being  equipped  to  explore  a 
region  as  full  of  dangers  and  uncertainty  as  an  African  jungle 


Trapped  by  the  Wire  83 

and  become  insensible  But  you  can  roll  pure 
water  out  of  a  man,  while  you  can't  roll  out 
poison  air. 

"I  shattered  my  glass,  and  in  rushed  the  cold 
brine.  Then  I  seized  my  hose  with  both  hands, 
praying  that  the  couplings  might  n't  start  off,  and 
held  on  tight. 

"Up,  up  I  went,  the  water  gushing  in  round  my 
face  and  body.  All  depended  on  the  men  above, 
on  them  and  the  hose.  I  had  done  everything  I 
could.  They  were  pulling  me  as  fast  as  they  dared, 
but  it  would  be  almost  two  minutes  before  I  could 
reach  the  surface. 

"Up,  up,  up!  Would  the  threads  hold?  My 
life  hung  on  them.  At  last  I  could  n't  keep  my 
breath  in  a  second  longer.  I  opened  my  mouth,  and 
in  rushed  the  water.  I  choked,  I  strangled,  but 
through  it  all  I  remembered  that  I  must  hold  onto 
that  hose.  And  I  did,  to  the  last  second  of  con- 
sciousness. Then  everything  grew  dark  and 
dreamy  and  quiet,  and  I  went  very  far  away. 
I  did  n't  know  if  I  should  ever  come  back  again ; 
I  did  n't  much  care. 

"When  I  recovered  my  senses  I  was  in  the  boat, 
my  armor  was  off,  and  they  were  rolling  the  water 
out  of  my  lungs.  The  couplings  had  held,  and  my 
fingers  had  grasped  the  hose  so  tightly  that  they 
had  been  obliged  to  pry  them  off.  In  two  or  three 
hours  I  was  myself  again. 

"  'Not  for  all  the  money  in  my  safe  shall  you 
again  go  down,'  said  Captain  Schermerhorn.     'I  will 


84  A   Vocational  Reader 

lose  my  gold.  It  shall  not  be  bought  with  your  life.' 
"I  did  n't  care  to  make  another  try  that  morning. 
But  I  had  the  tug  drop  a  grappling  into  the  wire, 
and  twitch  the  whole  mass  a  hundred  rods  away  to  a 
place  where  it  could  wallow  without  doing  any  harm. 
That  afternoon,  before  the  storm  broke,  I  put  the 
contents  of  the  safe  in  the  German's  hands." 

— From  The  Youth's  Companion 


BUSINESS 


PROMOTION   IN   BUSINESS 

GEORGE   H.    LORIMER 

Some  boys  are  always  howling  that  Bill  Smith  was 
promoted  because  he  had  a  "pull,"  and  that  they 
are  being  held  down  because  the  manager  is  jealous 
of  them.  I've  seen  a  good  many  pulls  in  my  time, 
but  I  never  saw  one  long  enough  to  reach  through 
the  'cashier's  window  for  more  money  than  its  owner 
earned.  And  when  a  fellow  whines  that  he's  been 
held  down,  the  truth  is,  as  a  general  thing,  that 
other  people  can't  hold  him  up.  He  just  picks  out 
a  nice  soft  spot,  stretches  out  flat  on  his  back,  and 
yells  that  some  heartless  brute  has  knocked  him 
down  and  is  sitting  on  his  chest. 
— From  The  Letters  of  a  Self-Made  Merchant  to  His  Son 


WHEN   A   FELLER   IS   OUT   OF   A  JOB 

SAM   WALTER   FOBS 

All  nature  is  sick  from  her  heels  to  her  hair 

When  a  feller  is  out  of  a  job, 
She  is  all  out  of  kilter  and  out  of  repair 

When  a  feller  is  out  of  a  job. 
Ain't  no  juice  in  the  earth  and  no  salt  in  the  sea, 
Ain't  no  ginger  in  life  in  this  land  of  the  free, 
And  the  universe  ain't  what  it's  cracked  up  to  be 

When  a  feller  is  out  of  a  job. 

87 


SS  A   Vocational  Reader 

What 's  the  good  of  blue  skies  and  of  blossoming  trees 

When  a  feller  is  out  of  a  job; 
When  your  boy  has  large  patches  on  both  of  his 
knees, 

And  a  feller  is  out  of  a  job? 
These  patches,  I  say,  look  so  big  to  your  eye 
That  they  shut  out  the  landscape  and  cover  the  sky. 
And  the  sun  can't  shine  through  'em  the  best  it  can 
try 

When  a  feller  is  out  of  a  job. 

When  a  man  has  no  part  in  the  work  of  the  earth, 

When  a  feller  is  out  of  a  job, 
He  feels  the  whole  blundering  mistake  of  his  birth 

When  a  feller  is  out  of  a  job. 
He  feels  he 's  no  share  in  the  whole  of  the  plan, 
That  he's  got  the  mitten  from  Nature's  own  hand, 
That  he's  a  rejected  and  left-over  man. 

When  a  feller  is  out  of  a  job. 

For  you've  jest  lost  your  hold  with  the  rest  of  the 
crowd 
When  a  feller  is  out  of  a  job; 
And  you  feel  like  a  dead  man  with  never  a  shroud, 

When  a  feller  is  out  of  a  job. 
You  are  crawling  around  but  you  're  out  of  the  game, 
You  may  bustle  about — but  you're  dead  jest  the 

same — 
You're  dead  with   no  tombstone  to  puff  up  your 
name. 
When  a  feller  is  out  of  a  job. 


The  Making  of  a  Merchant  89 

Every  man  that's  a  man  wants  to  help  push   the 
world, 

But  he  can't  if  he's  out  of  a  job. 
He  is  left  out  behind,  on  the  shelf  he  is  curled, 

When  a  feller  is  out  of  a  job. 
Ain't  no  juice  in  the  earth  and  no  salt  in  the  sea. 
Ain't  no  ginger  in  life  in  this  land  of  the  free, 
And  the  universe  ain't  what  it's  cracked  up  to  be 

When  a  feller  is  out  of  a  job. 

»■ 

THE   MAKING   OF   A   MERCHANT 

HARLOW    N.    HIGINBOTHAM 

He  started  in  by  tending  the  telephone  at  a  grain 
elevator,  and  "keeping  the  weights"  —  that  is, 
copying  the  scale  tickets  into  a  book — when  not 
busy  at  the  'phone.  He  made  it  a  business  always 
to  be  caught  up  with  his  work,  so  it  often  happened 
that  when  he  went  to  the  scale  floor  for  the  tickets 
they  were  not  ready  for  him.  This  gave  the  young 
man  leisure  to  become  familiar  with  the  weighman's 
work,  and  with  the  scales  and  machinery  of  the  ele- 
vator. Occasionally  he  induced  the  weighman  to  let 
him  tend  one  scale,  and  later  two  scales,  until  he 
became  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  work. 

About  this  time  the  employer  built  a  new  elevator, 
and  the  young  man  secured  the  position  of  time- 
keeper, undismayed  by  the  fact  that  the  time- 
keeper was  expected,  in  addition  to  his  regular 
work,  to  tally  and  record  every  load  of  lumber, 
stone,  brick,  sand,  iron,  and  other  material  going 
into  the  construction  of  the  elevator. 


go  A   Vocational  Reader 

The  elevator  was  built  by  day  labor  instead  of  by 
contract.  The  first  day  twenty  men  started  work, 
the  second  day  there  were  forty,  the  third  day 
sixty,  until  nearly  two  hundred  men  were  engaged. 
Despite  the  fact  that  these  laborers  were  of  almost  a 
dozen  different  nationalities,  the  young  timekeeper 
so  familiarized  himself  with  their  names  and  faces 
that  he  was  able  to  call  by  name  each  man  who  had 
worked  for  even  a  single  day.  He  could  also  tell, 
quite  as  readily,  in  what  part  of  the  building  each 
man  worked;  and  he  missed  at  once  any  laborer 
who  stole  away,  for  an  hour  or  two,  to  a  neighboring 
saloon. 

When  the  elevator  was  completed,  a  weighman 
was  needed  and  the  young  man  applied  for  the 
position.  After  convincing  the  employer  that  he 
understood  the  work  and  that  he  had  watched  the 
construction  of  every  grain  spout,  and  therefore 
knew  into  what  bin  each  one  led,  he  was  given  the 
position. 

He  soon  became  so  expert  that  the  weighing  did 
not  require  his  entire  time,  and  during  moments 
otherwise  unoccupied  he  turned  his  attention  to  the 
cleaning  machines  on  the  same  floor,  and  was  finally 
allowed  to  tend  these  machines  in  addition  to  the 
work  of  weighing.  He  became  an  expert  in  the 
art  of  telling  at  a  glance  the  exact  grade  of  a  given 
sample  of  wheat,  and  during  this  schooling  he 
managed  to  learn  from  the  foreman  just  how  grain 
is  mixed  to  produce  a  given  grade.  He  soon  gained 
the  name  of  being  the  best  grain  expert  in  the 


The  Making  of  a  Merchant 


91 


Janet  M.  Cummings 

The  grain  expert  who  spends  his  days  in  a  great  elevator  where 

wheat  is  stored  can  tell  at  a  glance  the  exact  grade 

of  a  given  sample  of  wheat 

elevator,  and  held  this  enviable  position,  in  the  eyes 
of  his  fellow  workers,  for  a  number  of  years. 

One  day  one  of  the  young  man's  employers  came 


92  A   Vocational  Reader 

to  him  and  said,  "I  am  going  to  buy  you  a  member- 
ship in  the  Board  of  Trade.  You  can  buy  car  lots 
down  there.  I  have  been  watching  you,  and  I  hear 
from  people  around  that  you  are  as  good  a  judge  of 
grain  as  there  is.  You  are  just  the  fellow  we  want." 
Thus  began  his  career  as  a  commission  merchant. 
But  the  keynote  of  his  advancement  from  one 
position  to  another  was  that  he  learned  to  do  the 
work  of  the  position  next  in  line  of  promotion. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  RUBBER  BANDS 

ADAPTED 

A  good  retail  merchant  is  his  customer's  ally. 
He  knows  vastly  more  about  his  goods  than  the 
buyer  can  know;  and  if  he  is  a  good  salesman,  he 
puts  his  knowledge  at  his  customer's  service,  advises 
him  how  to  lay  out  his  money  to  the  best  advantage, 
and  even  on  occasion  helps  him  to  make  up  his  mind. 

But  when  the  retail  dealer,  turning  for  his  goods 
to  the  wholesaler,  himself  becomes  a  buyer,  the  case 
is  different.  Now  both  parties  know  the  market, 
both  are  experts.  Neither  has  any  advantage,  so 
it  is  often  a  battle  royal  of  wits  to  see  which  of  two 
well-matched  antagonists  will  outguess  the  other. 

The  owner  of  a  large  stationery  store  had  long 
been  accustomed  to  buy  his  supplies  from  a  particu- 
lar manufacturer.  Every  few  months  the  traveling 
salesman  of  the  wholesale  house  would  appear  at 
the  store,  confer  with  the  owner,  and  take  orders  for 
several  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  goods,   enough 


The  Battle  of  the  Rubber  Bands  93 

to  supply  the  shop  till  the  next  visit.  A  hundred 
dozen  boxes  was  the  usual  order  of  rubber  bands. 

"Well,"  said  the  salesman  on  one  of  his  visits, 
"I  suppose  it's  the  regular  thing  in  rubber?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  dealer,  "make  it  a  hundred." 
Then  he  went  on  to  ask  about  paper  and  pens  and 
ink  and  picture  postcards  and  all  the  thousand  and 
one  articles  that  a  stationer  carries  in  stock. 

Meantime,  in  the  back  of  his  mind,  he  was  think- 
ing in  this  wis^ 

"I  know  there  is  some  trouble  with  the  supply  of 
crude  rubber,  for  the  price  has  been  jumping  back 
and  forth.  If  in  the  next  few  months  the  price  of 
rubber  is  going  to  rise,  I  want  to  buy  a  big  supply 
of  bands  now  before  it  jumps.  But  if  the  price  is 
going  to  drop  later,  I  want  to  buy  from  hand  to 
mouth,  just  enough  to  carry  me  along  till  I  can  get 
them  cheaper.  Now  I  don't  know  what  is  going 
to  happen,  but  I  '11  bet  that  salesman  does,  and  I 
am  going  to  make  him  tell  me." 

So,  having  talked  about  other  matters  for  a  while 
and  put  in  some  large  orders,  he  said,  quite  casually, 
"Oh,  on  the  whole,  I  guess  I'll  take  only  fifty  dozen 
of  those  rubber  bands." 

Without  a  word,  the  salesman  changed  the  order. 

"Did  I  say  fifty?"  said  the  merchant.  "Make 
it  five  hundred!" 

For  he  reasoned  thus:  "That  man  said  nothing 
when  I  cut  my  order  in  half — he  had  rather  sell 
me  a  half  order  than  a  whole  one.  That  means  he 
knows  that  the  price  is  going  to  rise  and  he  can 


94  A  Vocational  Reader 

sell  me  the  other  fifty  dozen  later  and  make  me  pay 
more.     My  game,  then,  is  to  stock  up  now." 
The  buyer  had  outguessed  his  opponent. 

JOHN  HANCOCK:  MERCHANT 

PARK    PRESSEY 

By  all  rules  of  the  game,  as  played  around  1776, 
John  Hancock  should  have  been  a  Tory.  Unlike 
many  of  his  associates  he  had  everything  to  lose 
and  little  to  gain  through  joining  the  patriot  cause. 
He  was  not  only  one  of  the  richest  men  in  New 
England,  but  his  property  was  so  exposed  that  he 
ran  the  risk  of  losing  it  all  by  opposing  the  King's 
party.  He  would  have  had  much  good  company 
had  he  clung  to  the  Loyalists,  but  in  that  case 
his  famous  signature  would  have  been  attached 
to  nothing  more  remarkable  than  bills  of  lading, 
and  United  States  history  would  be  much  less 
interesting. 

And  yet  John  Hancock  was  born  to  neither  riches 
nor  a  business  life,  for  he  was  descended  from  a 
line  of  New  England  ministers  and  would  naturally 
have  followed  in  the  profession  of  his  ancestors. 
But  his  father  died  when  John  was  only  seven  years 
old  and  the  boy  was  then  taken  into  the  home  of 
his  rich  Uncle  Thomas  of  Boston.  From  that  time 
he  was  destined  to  become  a  merchant. 

To  the  country  boy,  accustomed  to  a  quaint  little 
parsonage  in  Braintree,  the  new  home  must  have 
seemed  a  palace.     The  house  stood  on  Beacon  Hill, 


The  Ilalliday  Historic  Photograph  Co.     From  a  portrait  by  Copley 

John  Hancock 

A  business  man  who  so  directed  his  business  affairs  as  to  be  of 

the  highest  service  to  his  country,  and  icho  did  not  hesitate  to 

sacrifice  his  private  interests  for  his  country's  good 


96  A  Vocational  Reader 

overlooking  the  Common,  was  built  of  brownstone 
and  granite,  and  beautifully  furnished.  When 
ordering  from  England  materials  for  equipping  his 
residence,  Thomas  Hancock  always  added,  "Pray 
let  it  be  of  the  best."  Behind  the  house,  where 
the  State  House  now  stands,  were  beautiful  gardens 
filled  with  rare  fruits  and  flowers. 

In  these  surroundings  John  Hancock  grew  up. 
He  fitted  for  Harvard  at  the  Public  Latin  School, 
and  graduated  from  college  at  the  age  of  seventeen. 
As  the  adopted  son  of  Boston's  most  prosperous 
merchant  he  might  easily  have  become  a  snob. 
That  he  did  not  was  undoubtedly  due  to  the  good 
sense  of  Uncle  Thomas  and  his  strong-minded  but 
lovable  wife.  Aunt  Lydia. 

After  receiving  his  degree  at  Harvard,  John 
Hancock  entered  his  uncle's  office,  and  for  the  next 
six  years  occupied  his  time  in  making  out  invoices 
and  learning  the  routine  of  an  importing  and  export- 
ing house  which  had  several  ships  plying  between 
Boston  and  London.  This  was  splendid  training, 
for  while  he  dug  away  at  the  fundamentals  of  a 
business  life,  he  was  in  close  touch  with  a  man 
of  wide  acquaintance  and  excellent  ability. 

Thomas  Hancock  showed  his  broad  outlook  when, 
at  the  end  of  the  six  years,  he  sent  John  to  London 
to  get  acquainted  with  the  English  agents  of  the 
firm,  and  see  something  of  the  world.  The  year 
which  the  young  man  spent  abroad  was  an  eventful 
one,  for  during  that  time  came  the  death  of  George  H 
and  the  coronation  of  his  successor.     The  Boston 


John  Hancock:  Merchant  97 

clerk  is  said  to  have  been  presented  at  court  and 
to  have  received  a  fine  snuff  box  at  the  hands  of 
His  Majesty  George  III.  He  mingled  with  the  best 
society  and  made  lifelong  acquaintances.  It  might 
easily  happen  that  "a  most  presentable  young  man," 
fond  of  good  clothes  and  the  admiration  of  his 
fellows,  furnished  with  unlimited  letters  of  credit, 
and  only  the  mild  injunction  from  his  uncle:  "Be 
frugal  of  expense,  do  honor  to  your  country,  furnish 
your  mind  with^;all  wise  improvements,  and  keep  the 
pickpockets  from  my  watch,"  would  become  enam- 
ored of  the  gaieties  of  London  and  wish  to  continue 
in  them.  But  as  the  time  came  for  returning  home 
we  find  him  writing  to  his  family,  "I  shall  with 
satisfaction  bid  adieu  to  this  grand  place  with  all 
its  pleasurable  enjoyments  and  tempting  scenes, 
for  more  substantial  pleasure  which  I  promise  myself 
in  the  enjoyment  of  my  friends  in  America." 

Back  in  Boston,  Hancock  again  took  up  his  work 
in  the  store  and  office;  but  only  a  little  more  than 
two  years  passed  before  his  uncle,  ' '  having  had  long 
experience  of  his  uprightness  and  great  abilities  for 
business,"  took  the  young  man  into  partnership. 
The  very  next  year  after  the  new  firm  of  Thomas 
Hancock  &  Company  came  into  being,  the  senior 
partner  died  suddenly,  and  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
seven  John  Hancock  came  into  possession  of  a 
fortune  and  the  largest  business  in  Boston.  But 
the  years  of  training  spent  at  counter  and  desk  and 
wharf  enabled  him  to  meet  the  responsibility  with 
little  disturbance  to  the  business. 


98 


A   Vocational  Reader 


The  HaMiday  Historic  Phototrapb  Co. 

Hancock  House,  Boston 

The  next  few  months  were  a  period  of  prosperity 
for  the  young  merchant.  His  vessels  carried  "whale 
oyl,"  whale  bone,  and  "Pott  ashes"  to  London, 
and  brought  back  coal,  hemp,  and  all  sorts  of  manu- 
factured articles  for  his  wholesale  and  retail  stores. 
It  was  at  this  time  that  he  advertised:  "Store 
No.  4,  at  the  east  end  of  Faneuil  Hall  Market,  a 
general  assortment  of  English  and  West  India 
goods,  also  choice  Newcastle  coals,  and  Irish  butter, 
cheap  for  cash."  He  gained  advantage  over  his 
competitors  through  paying  cash  for  his  purchases. 
He  wrote  his  London  agents,  ' '  I  will  venture  to  say 
that  no  one  person  makes  larger  or  more  timely 
remittances  than  I  do."  He  secured  interests  in 
whaling  vessels  and  in  the  supply  of  "oyl"  from 
Nantucket  and  Martha's  Vineyard  to  such  an  extent 
that  he  barely  missed  becoming  the  first  oil  trust. 

As  Paul  Revere  came  into  prominence  in  the  Sons 


John  Hancock:  Merchant  99 

of  Liberty  through  his  skill  as  a  mechanic,  so  John 
Hancock's  business  standing  gave  him  entrance  to 
political  councils.  His  public  career  began  in  a 
modest  way  when,  at  the  age  of  twenty-eight,  he 
was  elected  a  selectman  in  the  town  of  Boston. 
From  that  time  until  the  end  of  his  days  he  was 
almost  continuously  in  some  public  position  —  at 
the  expense  of  his  health,  his  business,  and  a  large 
part  of  his  fortune,  to  say  nothing  of  the  narrow 
margin  by  whidi  he  escaped  being  hanged. 

When  England  began  her  campaign  of  taxation 
against  the  colonies,  Hancock,  as  an  exporter  and 
importer,  was  quick  to  see  the  burden  such  a  course 
would  put  upon  the  new  country.  At  that  time 
he  took  his  stand  with  those  who  opposed  taxa- 
tion without  representation  and  he  never  wavered 
in  his  attitude.  He  repeatedly  wrote  his  London 
agents  that  England's  policy  meant  ruin  for  Ameri- 
can trade,  and  urged  all  possible  help  from  them. 
At  the  end  of  one  particularly  forceful  letter 
he  added  this  postscript:  "This  letter  I  pro- 
pose to  remain  in  my  letter  book  as  a  standing 
monument  to  posterity,  and  to  my  children  in  par- 
ticular, that  I  by  no  means  consented  to  a  sub- 
mission to  this  cruel  Act  [Stamp  Act]  and  that 
my  best  representations  were  not  wanting  in  the 
matter." 

The  first  clash  between  Boston  citizens  and  the 
"home"  government  came  on  account  of  the  seizure 
of  Hancock's  ship  Liberty  for  smuggling.  This  sei- 
zure aroused  a  mob  which  did  considerable  damage 


loo  A   Vocational  Reader 

and  caused  the  hasty  retirement  of  the  revenue 
officers  to  the  protection  of  Castle  WilHam  in  the 
harbor.  The  affair  stamped  Hancock  as  on  the 
side  of  "the  people,"  and  he  was  re-elected  selectman 
and  representative  to  the  General  Assembly  by  the 
biggest  vote  given  to  any  candidate. 

Stormy  times  were  fast  approaching,  however. 
Feeling  became  so  strong  against  England's  efforts 
to  tax  the  colonies  that  many  advocated  doing  away 
with  all  importation,  and  John  Hancock  approved 
this  course  although  it  meant  great  loss  to  himself. 
The  famous  "Tea  Party"  emphasized  this  feeling 
to  such  a  degree  that  the  Royal  Governor,  General 
Gage,  forbade  the  holding  of  town  meetings,  except 
at  his  call,  and  abolished  the  General  Assembly. 
He  revoked  Hancock's  commission  as  Colonel  of 
Cadets,  commonly  called  the  Governor's  Guards; 
but  this  only  caused  the  corps  to  disband  and  offer 
their  services  to  their  deposed  colonel.  Hancock 
still  further  enraged  General  Gage  by  the  address 
he  delivered  in  the  Old  South  Meeting  House  on  the 
third  anniversary  of  the  Boston  Massacre. 

John  Hancock  was  president  of  the  Provincial 
Congress,  which  took  the  place  of  the  General 
Assembly  and  held  its  sessions  in  Concord.  After 
the  adjournment  of  this  body  in  April  of  1775,  he, 
with  Samuel  Adams,  went  to  the  home  of  the 
Reverend  Jonas  Clark  in  Lexington.  The  Clarks 
and  Hancocks  were  relatives,  and  the  house  was 
built  by  John's  grandfather,  "Bishop"  Hancock, 
who  used  it  as  a  parsonage  for  over  fifty  years. 


John  Hancock:  Merchant  loi 

Here,  too,  came  Aunt  Lydia  and  Hancock's  fiancee, 
Dorothy  Quincy,  for  it  was  no  longer  safe  for  them 
in  Boston.  Only  a  short  time  before  this,  "Col. 
Hancock's  elegant  seat,  situated  near  the  Common, 
was  attacked  by  a  number  of  officers,  who  with  their 
swords,  cut  and  hacked  the  fence  before  his  house 
in  a  most  scandalous  manner  and  behaved  very 
abusively.'"  Thus  it  came  about  that  "on  the 
eighteenth  of  April  in  seventy-five,"  Hancock  and 
his  friends  wei^  peacefully  sleeping  in  the  old  par- 
sonage, when  there  came 

A  voice  in  the  darkness,  a  knock  on  the  door. 

The  story  of  the  midnight  warning  by  Paul  Revere 
is  familiar  to  all ;  but  it  is  not  so  well  known  that  only 
by  the  greatest  effort  was  Hancock  dissuaded  from 
remaining  at  the  house  and  personally  opposing  the 
British  regulars  with  flintlock  and  sword.  It  was 
Adams  who  finally  convinced  the  thoroughly  aroused 
young  man  that  it  would  be  rash  folly  to  run  such  a 
risk;  for  it  was  recognized  among  the  leaders  of  the 
patriot  cause  that  this  expedition  by  the  British 
was  aimed  as  much  at  the  capture  of  Hancock  and 
Adams  as  at  getting  possession  of  the  ammunition 
stored  at  Concord.  To  these  two  alone  had  pardon 
been  refused,  should  the  "rebels"  decide  to  submit 
to  royal  authority.  Therefore,  in  the  early  morning 
hours,  they  made  their  escape  to  the  neighboring 
town  of  Woburn,  ere  the  firing  of  "the  shot  heard 
round  the  world." 

Previous  to  this,  Hancock  and  Adams  had  been 
chosen  delegates  to  the  Second  Continental  Congress, 


102  A  Vocational  Reader 

and  directly  after  the  Battle  of  Lexington  they  set 
off  in  Hancock's  coach  for  Philadelphia.  The 
journey  was  long  and  hard,  but  the  strain  was 
somewhat  relieved  by  the  enthusiasm  met  along  the 
way,  especially  at  New  York,  where  a  crowd  of 
young  men  wanted  to  take  off  the  horses  and 
themselves  draw  the  coach. 

Hardly  had  Hancock  taken  his  seat  as  a  delegate, 
when  he  was  surprised  by  unanimous  election  as 
President  of  the  Continental  Congress — at  that 
time  the  highest  honor  in  the  power  of  the  colonies 
to  bestow.  Benjamin  Harrison  said,  as  he  placed 
Hancock  in  the  chair,  "We  will  show  Mother  Britain 
how  little  we  care  for  her  by  making  a  Massachusetts 
man  our  President,  whom  she  has  excluded  from 
pardon  and  offered  a  reward  for  his  head." 

His  tall  and  scrupulously  well-dressed  person,  his 
calm,  unruffled  demeanor,  and  especially  his  abso- 
lute fairness  in  his  treatment  of  all,  had  made  Han- 
cock an  ideal  presiding  ofhcer  from  the  days  when 
he  first  became  moderator  of  Boston  town  meetings; 
and  his  careful  business  training,  the  experience  of 
meeting  all  classes  of  men  at  home  and  abroad,  now 
enabled  him  to  preside  acceptably  over  an  assembly 
which  was  truly  remarkable,  for  George  Washing- 
ton, John  Adams,  Thomas  Jefferson,  and  Benjamin 
Franklin  were  only  a  few  of  the  men  of  rare  ability 
among  its  members. 

Meanwhile,  Aunt  Lydia  and  Dorothy  had  found 
refuge  during  the  siege  of  Boston  at  the  home  of 
Thaddeus  Burr  in  Fairfield,   Connecticut.     It  has 


John  Hancock:  Merchant  103 

been  said  that  a  visit  to  his  uncle  by  the  fascinating 
young  Aaron  Burr  caused  the  ever-alert  Aunt  Lydia 
to  urge  her  nephew  to  hurry  to  Fairfield.  Anyway, 
during  sultry  August,  Hancock  made  the  jour- 
ney from  Philadelphia,  and,  in  a  style  befitting  the 
President  of  Congress,  was  married  to  his  "Dear 
Dolly." 

In  Philadelphia  the  feeHng  that  the  colonies  must 
separate  from  _  England  was  now  growing  very 
rapidly.  Previt)usly  there  had  been  only  the  inten- 
tion -of  securing  from  the  mother  country  equal 
rights  with  those  "at  home";  and  when  it  became 
evident  to  Congress  that  separation  alone  would 
reheve  the  burden,  it  was  a  matter  of  serious  concern 
whether  the  colonies  would  back  their  representatives 
in  advocating  such  a  course.  It  was  then  that  some 
one  said,  "We  must  hang  together,"  and  the  ever- 
ready  Franklin  added,  "or  we  shall  all  hang  sepa- 
rately." But  in  the  face  of  dire  possibilities  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  was  drafted.  When 
the  document  was  put  before  him,  the  President 
placed  his  well-known  "John  Hancock"  to  it  in 
letters  bolder  than  usual,  ' '  so  that  George  the  Third 
may  read  it  without  his  spectacles,"  as  he  cheerfully 
remarked,  although  he  had  signed  his  death  warrant 
in  the  event  of  any  failure  on  the  part  of  the  colonies 
to  carry  their  rash  undertaking  to  complete  victory. 

John  Hancock's  detractors  have  said  he  was  a  vain 
man,  flattered  by  the  praises  of  those  who  put  him 
into  office  only  that  they  might  have  the  benefit  of 
his  social  position  and  great  wealth ;  but  it  is  hardly 


I04  A   Vocational  Reader 

conceivable  that  a  man  not  sincerely  devoted  to  the 
cause  he  represented  could  so  easily  assume  personal 
risk.  Furthermore,  he  was  ever  ready  to  sacrifice 
his  own  interests.  When  the  matter  of  authorizing 
Washington  to  bombard  Boston  was  considered  in 
Congress,  and  it  was  intimated  that  Hancock  had 
much  to  lose,  he  calmly  replied,  "It  is  true,  sir, 
nearly  all  of  the  property  I  have  in  the  world  is  in 
houses  and  other  real  estate  in  the  town  of  Boston; 
but  if  the  expulsion  of  the  British  from  it,  and  the 
liberties  of  our  country  require  their  being  burnt 
to  ashes — issue  the  order  for  that  purpose  imme- 
diately." And  to  Washington  he  wrote,  "May  God 
crown  your  attempt  with  success.  I  most  heartily 
wish  it,  although  individually  I  may  be  the  greatest 
sufferer."     No  sound  of  the  demagogue  there! 

Ill  health  caused  Hancock  to  resign  the  presi- 
dency after  two  and  one  half  years  of  service.  He 
then  brought  his  wife  to  the  home  on  Beacon  Hill. 
It  is  interesting  to  note  that  the  Hancock  mansion 
really  suffered  little  damage  during  the  siege.  It 
became  headquarters  for  General  Clinton  and  for 
Lord  Percy,  and  the  stables  were  used  as  a  hospital 
for  the  wounded  from  Bunker  Hill;  but  aside  from 
ruined  carpets  and  some  broken  glass  it  was  not 
much  harmed.  It  afterwards  entertained  the  man 
who  drove  the  British  from  the  town. 

In  this  home  the  Hancocks  kept  open  house — and 
friends,  few  or  many,  were  always  welcomed.  John 
Hancock's  lavish  hospitality  and  his  ready  ability 
to  smooth  out  strained  relations  were  responsible  for 


John  Hancock:  Merchant  105 

retaining  the  good  will  and  cooperation  of  the  French 
officers  after  a  misunderstanding  had  nearly  caused 
a  rupture  between  the  two  nations.  At  these  feasts 
at  the  Mansion,  Dorothy  Hancock  also  played  an 
important  part,  for  she  was  the  capable,  brilliant, 
and  graceful  presiding  genius  of  the  household, 
always  able  to  meet  emergencies.  At  one  time  when 
thirty  officers  from  the  French  fleet  were  invited 
to  dinner  and  one  hundred  and  fifty  came,  includ- 
ing scores  of  hiTngry  midshipmen.  Mistress  Hancock 
sent  .out  her  servants  to  milk  all  the  cows  on  the 
Common,  regardless  of  ownership,  and  by  quick 
action  in  other  ways  provided  sufficient  food  for 
all, —  much  to  the  delight  of  her  admiring  husband. 

A  few  days  after  the  dinner  at  the  Mansion,  Count 
d'Estaing  returned  the  compliment  by  inviting 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hancock  to  a  banquet  on  board  the 
flagship  Languedoc.  During  the  dinner  one  of 
the  officers  suggested  to  Dorothy  Hancock  that  she 
pull  a  cord  hanging  near  her  chair.  She  did  so,  and 
immediately  there  was  a  tremendous  booming  of 
cannon,  for  she  had  given  the  signal  arranged  for 
firing  a  salute  from  every  gun  of  the  fleet. 

Not  alone  to  those  who  had  something  to  offer  in 
return  did  Hancock  grant  his  favors.  He  was  always 
ready  to  help  any  in  need, — ■  from  giving  pulpit 
furniture  and  a  large  cash  donation  to  Brattle 
Street  Church,  to  the  distribution  of  one  hundred 
and  fifty  cords  of  wood  among  poor  families.  He 
once  gave  a  banquet  at  the  Green  Dragon  Tavern, 
at  a  cost  of  $1,000,  to  the  leaders  of  the  "North 


io6  A  Vocational  Reader 

Enders"  and  the  "South  Enders,"  between  whom 
there  was  a  traditional  feud  which  broke  into  fighting 
on  each  "Pope's  Day."  At  the  end  of  the  dinner, 
the  leaders  shook  hands  and  agreed  to  "call  it  off" 
for  the  future.  It  is  estimated  that  Hancock's 
devotion  to  the  cause  of  Liberty  cost  him  $100,000. 
As  John  Adams  said,  "If  Hancock's  fortune  had  not 
been  very  large  he  would  have  died  a  poor  man." 

Naturally,  John  Hancock  became  the  most 
popular  man  of  his  day  in  New  England.  Massa- 
chusetts, Maine,  New  Hampshire,  and  Vermont 
named  towns  for  him,  and  Maine  has  a  Hancock 
County  as  well.  When  the  time  came  to  elect  the 
first  Governor  of  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachu- 
setts, John  Hancock  received  11,000  out  of  12,200 
votes.     He  was  ten  times  re-elected. 

During  the  struggle  of  the  colonies,  Hancock's 
business  was  practically  abandoned,  but  at  the  close 
of  the  war  we  find  that  he  intends  to  again  "pursue 
business."  He  wrote  a  former  sailing  master,  "I 
am  rebuilding  my  store  upon  the  Dock  which  the 
Brittons  burned  to  ashes  when  they  were  in  posses- 
sion of  Boston,"  and  he  commissioned  the  captain 
to  buy  a  vessel  for  the  London  trade.  But  con- 
tinued ill  health  prevented  him  from  taking  up  his 
work  with  the  old  vigor,  and  at  the  age  of  fifty-six 
he  died  at  his  home  on  the  hill. 

John  Hancock  left  no  descendants.  A  little 
Lydia  remained  on  earth  but  a  few  months,  and 
a  promising  son,  John  George  Washington,  died 
from  a  fall  while  skating,  when  only  nine  years  old. 


How  Cyrus  Laid  the  Cable  107 

In  his  scarlet  velvet  coat,  white  embroidered 
waistcoat,  black  "small  clothes,"  white  silk  stock- 
ings, and  black  shoes  with  silver  buckles,  John 
Hancock  was  a  picturesque  figure  during  the  days  of 
dawning  liberty.  If  somewhat  pompous  and  over 
fond  of  praise  and  flattery,  he  was  generous  to  a 
fault,  saw  his  duty  to  his  country,  and  followed  it 
consistently  to  the  end. 

HOW   CYRUS   LAID   THE   CABLE 

JOHN    G.    SAXE 

Come,  listen  all  unto  my  song; 

It  is  no  silly  fable; 
'T  is  all  about  the  mighty  cord 

They  call  the  Atlantic  Cable. 

Bold  Cyrus  Field  he  said,  says  he, 

"I  have  a  pretty  notion 
That  I  can  run  a  telegram 

Across  the  Atlantic  Ocean." 

Then  all  the  people  laughed,  and  said 

They'd  like  to  see  him  do  it; 
He  might  get  half-seas-over,  but 

He  never  could  go  through  it; 

To  carry  out  his  foolish  plan 

He  never  would  be  able; 
He  might  as  well  go  hang  himself 

With  his  Atlantic  Cable! 


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A  Vocational  Reader 


Jauet  M.  Cummings 


The   "Great   Eastern'*   off  Sheerness,  England,   receiving   the 
Atlantic  Cable  on  board 


But  Cyrus  was  a  valiant  man, 

A  fellow  of  decision; 
And  heeded  not  their  mocking  words, 

Their  laughter  and  derision. 

Twice  did  his  bravest  efforts  fail, 
And  yet  his  mind  was  stable; 

He  wa'n't  the  man  to  break  his  heart 
Because  he  broke  his  cable. 


"Once  more,  my  gallant  boys!"  he  cried; 

"Three  times! — you  know  the  fable! 
(I'll  make  it  thirty,"  muttered  he, 

"But  I  will  lay  the  cable!") 


How  Cyrus  Laid  the  Cable 


109 


Janet  M    Cumniings 

Coiling  the  Atlantic  Telegraph  Cable  in  one  of  the  holds  of 
the  ''Great  Eastern" 


Once  more  they  tried, — hurrah!  hurrah! 

What  means  this  great  commotion? 
The  Lord  be  praised !  the  cable 's  laid 

Across  the  Atlantic  Ocean! 

Loud  ring  the  bells — for,  flashing  through 

Six  hundred  leagues  of  water, 
Old  Mother  England's  benison 

Salutes  her  eldest  daughter! 


O'er  all  the  land  the  tidings  speed, 
And  soon,  in  every  nation. 

They'll  hear  about  the  cable  with 
Profoundest  admiration ! 


no  A  Vocational  Reader 

Now  long  live  James,  and  long  live  Vic, 

And  long  live  gallant  Cyrus; 
And  may  his  courage,  faith,  and  zeal 

With  emulation  fire  us; 

And  may  we  honor  evermore 

The  manly,  bold,  and  stable; 
And  tell  our  sons,  to  make  them  brave. 

How  Cyrus  laid  the  cable ! 

THE   CARPENTER  WHO   FOUNDED   A 
UNIVERSITY 

ADAPTED 

Ezra  Cornell  had  no  special  talent  for  any  par- 
ticular sort  of  work.  He  simply  took  up  whatever 
came  to  hand — and  did  it  better  than  anybody  else. 

He  was  brought  up  in  what,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  nineteenth  century,  was  called  the  Great  West; 
that  is  to  say,  central  New  York  State,  a  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  west  of  Albany.  It  was  a  wild 
country  where  travelers  journeyed  with  their  own 
horses  and  camped  out  at  night  for  lack  of  inns,  and 
the  farmers  had  to  cut  off  the  heavy  "first-growth" 
wood  to  get  land  for  planting. 

Young  Cornell  began  by  mastering  two  vocations 
— pottery  making,  which  was  his  father's  trade,  and 
farming,  which  was  the  industry  of  the  neighborhood. 
When  he  was  sixteen  his  father,  needing  a  larger 
pottery,  set  him  to  helping  the  carpenters.  Ezra, 
thereupon,   picked  up  carpentering;  and  the  next 


Ezra  Cornell 
The  carpenter  who  founded  a  university 


112  A   Vocational  Reader 

year,  he  and  a  younger  brother,  between  them,  built 
an  entire  new  two-story  dwelling  for  the  family, 
that  was  much  the  best  house  in  their  village. 
This  made  three  different  trades  at  which  Cornell 
could  earn  a  good  living. 

Of  the  three,  he  liked  carpentering  best;  and  so, 
when  he  was  eighteen,  he  left  home  and  set  up  as  a 
carpenter.  Two  years  later,  he  entered  a  machine 
shop  and  added  still  another  vocation  to  his  outfit. 
His  shop  being  a  mere  twenty  miles  from  his  father's 
house,  he  used  to  walk  over  to  see  his  parents  every 
Saturday  night  after  his  week's  work  was  done, 
and  walk  back  again  Monday  morning  in  time  for 
his  regular  duties.  Cornell,  be  it  noted,  was  not 
exactly   a  namby-pamby  person. 

At  length  he  found  work  as  a  carpenter  in  Ithaca, 
New  York,  where  he  undertook  to  keep  a  cotton  mill 
in  order,  and  later  a  plaster  mill.  Here,  from  odd 
jobs  at  repairing,  Cornell  rose  to  be  general  manager 
and  construction  engineer,  besides  inventing  some 
valuable  new  machinery.  Incidentally,  just  to  put 
in  his  spare  time,  he  built  himself  a  dwelling  house 
for  his  growing  family. 

Then  suddenly,  when  Cornell  was  thirty-six, 
came  the  great  panic  of  1837  which  wrecked  the 
business  of  the  country  and  threw  thousands  out  of 
work.  Cornell,  after  months  of  idleness,  tried  selling 
a  patent  plow.  Forty  miles  of  walking  a  day  it  cost 
him,  and  even  then  he  could  hardly  make  a  living. 

Nevertheless,  this  apparent  misfortune  proved  the 
turning-point  of  his  career.     Samuel  F.  B.  Morse 


The  Carpenter  Who  Founded  a  University        113 

had  just  invented  the  telegraph — which  almost 
nobody  thought  would  work — and  had  persuaded 
Congress  to  vote  thirty  thousand  dollars  for  a 
trial  line  between  Washington  and  Baltimore. 

Cornell,  traveling  through  Maine  with  his  patent 
plow,  ran  across  an  acquaintance  named  Smith. 

"Cornell,"  said  Smith,  "I  have  taken  a  contract 
from  Professor  Morse  to  lay  lead  pipe  with  telegraph 
wires  inside,  for  one  hundred  dollars  a  mile;  and  it 
can't  be  done  hy  hand  at  that  price.  Unless  I  can 
invent  a  machine  for  the  work,  the  whole  scheme  will 
fall  through." 

Cornell  asked  the  details,  sat  down  on  the  floor 
with  a  bit  of  chalk,  and  in  a  short  while  had  drawn 
out  on  the  boards  an  invention  for  digging  a  ditch 
an  inch  and  a  quarter  wide  and  two  feet  and  a  half 
deep,  laying  a  pipe  in  the  bottom,  and  filling  the 
trench  again  as  before. 

Smith  did  not  believe  that  this  offhand  invention 
would  work.  But  Cornell  with  his  own  hands 
built  the  frame  and  made  the  patterns  for  the 
castings.  When  the  machine  was  done  he  invited 
Smith  and  Morse  to  see  it  tried.  They  wound  a 
length  of  pipe  on  the  drum,  yoked  on  eight  oxen, 
and  started  with  a  rush.  The  pipe  disappeared. 
Morse  would  not  believe  that  there  had  been  any 
pipe  in  the  machine  until  he  had  seen  the  entire 
length  dug  out  with  a  shovel. 

Cornell  then  wxnt  to  Baltimore  to  superintend 
his  machine.  The  pipe  was  nearly  laid,  and  the 
appropriation  nearly  used  up,  when  it  was  found 

8 


114 


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The  Carpenter  Who  Founded  a  University        115 

that  the  wires  inside  the  pipe  were  leaking  elec- 
tricity and  the  line  would  not  work.  Cornell  advised 
stringing  the  wires  on  poles.  The  plan  worked,  the 
line  was  completed,  and,  as  everybody  knows,  the 
first  important  message  sent  over  it  was  the  news 
of  the  nomination  of  Polk  for  President. 

And  yet  this  first  successful  electric  telegraph  was 
a  complete  business  failure.  The  government  would 
not  buy  it;  no  private  capitalist  had  any  faith  in 
the  invention,  oj-  was  willing  to  put  any  money  into 
developing  the  enterprise.  The  single  line  already 
built  began  by  earning  fifty  cents  and  a  dollar  a  day, 
and  after  two  years  had  not  reached  an  income  that 
would  pay  the  wages  of  a  single  operator.  The 
public  simply  would  not  telegraph. 

Cornell,  almost  alone,  had  faith  in  the  future. 
He  built  a  short  line  in  Boston — and  the  Bostonians 
would  not  even  look  at  it.  He  tried  a  line  in 
New  York — and  the  New  Yorkers  were  even  more 
indifferent.  The  business  men  of  Chicago  refused 
to  invest  a  single  dollar  in  a  line  to  connect  their  city 
with  New  York.  But  Cornell  put  into  the  project 
every  cent  of  money  he  could  raise. 

Gradually,  he  educated  the  pubhc  until  it  began 
to  send  telegrams.  Success,  once  started,  came 
with  a  rush.  Cornell  himself  built  most  of  the 
early  lines;  and  as  these  increased  in  number,  he 
united  them  into  the  Western  Union  Telegraph 
Company,  of  which  he  was  for  many  years  the 
largest  owner.  He  had  tried  in  turn  farming, 
pottery,  carpentry,    mechanics,  mill    management. 


ii6  A  Vocational  Reader 

engineering,  invention,  and  salesmanship,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  them  all.  Finally  he  made  a  fortune 
in  a  business  enterprise.  Then  he  went  back  to 
farming  for  amusement. 

Ezra  Cornell  never  forgot  how,  when  he  was  a 
boy,  he  and  his  brother  had  cleared  away  four  acres 
of  heavy  timber  and  planted  the  land  to  corn,  in 
order  that  they  might  have  money  for  one  more 
winter's  schooling.  And  now  that  he  had  become 
a  millionaire  his  great  desire  was  to  found  an 
institution  where,  as  he  said,  "anybody  can  find 
instruction  in  any  study,"  but  especially  in  the 
practical  and  useful  subjects  of  which  he  himself 
was  master.     The   result   was   Cornell   University. 


MECHANICS 


COWBOYS   OF  THE   SKIES 

ERNEST   POOLE 

He  was  standing  out  on  a  steel  girder,  with  a 
blueprint  map  in  his  hands.  He  wore  brown  canvas 
trousers  tucked  into  his  boots,  a  grimy  jumper,  a 
shirt  wide  open  at  the  throat,  buckskin  gloves  frayed 
by  hard  use,  and  an  old  slouch  hat  on  the  back  of 
his  head.  His  lean,  tanned  face  was  set  in  a  puzzled 
scowl  as  he  glanced  now  at  the  map  and  now  down- 
ward at  the  steel  frame  of  the  building.  I  came 
cautiously  nearer,  looked  over,  and  drew  quickly 
back,  for  there  was  a  sheer  drop  of  five  hundred 
feet  between  him  and  the  pavement. 

This  was  on  the  thirty-fifth  floor.  The  building, 
the  "Metropolitan  Life,"  was  to  rise  fifty  "tiers" 
in  all,  seven  hundred  feet,  the  highest  of  all  the  sky- 
scraper cluster.  From  our  perch  the  eye  swept  a 
circle  some  sixty  miles  across,  with  Greater  New 
York  sprawled  in  the  center.  Even  through  the 
noise  of  the  wind  and  steel  you  could  hear  the  hum 
of  the  city  below,  and  looking  straight  down  through 
the  brisk  little  puffs  of  smoke  and  steam,  the  whole 
mighty  tangle  of  Manhattan  Island  drew  close  into 
one  vivid  picture. 

Down  there  humanity  hurried  and  hummed. 
Up  here  the  wind  blew  fresh  and  clean.  Above  me, 
on  the  open  steel  beams  that  bristled  up  into  the 
heavens,  some  two  hundred  grimy  men  clambered 

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Pushing  the  frontier  line  of  civilization  toward  the  clouds 

about.  Between  their  work  and  the  world  below 
were  two  connecting  links,  the  blueprint  map  and 
the  beam  of  steel. 


Cowboys  of  the  Skies  121 

"Look  here,"  said  the  man  with  the  blueprint, 
"here's  one  of  the  girders  coming  up." 

There  was  a  creaking  and  straining  over  our  heads 
as  the  ponderous  derrick  swung  round.  Its  "mast" 
of  steel  was  lashed  by  cable  guys  to  the  center  of 
the  building's  frame.  From  the  base  of  the  mast 
the  steel  "boom"  reached  upward  and  outward, 
extending  some  twenty  feet  over  the  canon  below; 
and  from  its  upper  end  two  cables,  looking  like  mere 
silken  threads  "but  in  reality  one-inch  ropes  of  woven 
steel,  dropped  five  hundred  feet  to  the  pavement. 
Slowly  the  boom  swung  out  to  position;  the  cables 
grew  taut,  and  began  to  move. 

Looking  over  the  edge  I  could  see  the  girder  leave 
the  street,  a  twenty-ton  beam  that  looked  like  a 
straw.  Slowly,  moment  by  moment,  its  size  in- 
creased. Now  I  could  see  it  swing  slightly,  and 
tilt,  steadied  by  a  guy  rope  that  curved  in  the  wind 
like  a  colossal  kite-string.  The  journey  took  five 
minutes  in  all.  At  last  the  beam  rose  to  the  rough 
concrete  floor  on  which  we  stood. 

A  man  beside  me  gave  a  sharp  jerk  to  the  bell 
rope.  This  rope  ran  thirty-five  stories  deep  into 
the  heart  of  the  building.  In  his  closet  down  there 
the  engineer  jerked  a  lever;  the  engine  stopped. 
Up  here  the  great  girder  stopped,  and  hung  motion- 
less before  us. 

Another  jerk  on  the  bell  rope,  an  instant's  pause, 
then  the  boom  swung  in  and  the  girder  came  toward 
us.  Another  sharp  jerk,  and  it  stopped  in  midair. 
A  man  leaned  forward,  took  a  tight  grip  on  the  cable, 


122  A  Vocational  Reader 

and  stepped  out  onto  the  tilting  mass.  It  swung 
out  over  the  street.  Still  another  jerk  on  the  rope, 
and  it  started  on  up  with  its  puny  rider.  He  stood 
with  feet  planted  firmly  in  the  chains  that  wound 
it  round,  his  hands  on  the  cable,  his  body  swaying 
in  easy  poise.  Once  he  glanced  at  his  feet  and  the 
void  below,  then  gave  me  a  humorous  wink  and 
spat  off  into  the  universe. 

For  the  floor  two  tiers  above  us  the  upright 
columns  had  already  been  placed,  pointing  straight 
up,  silhouetted  against  the  blue  vault  above.  Near 
their  tops  were  the  "beam  seats,"  supports  into 
which  the  girder  was  to  be  fitted.  More  and  more 
slowly  it  rose  and  moved  into  position.  The  sig- 
nals came  now  in  rapid  succession,  till  at  last  it 
hung  between  the  two  columns. 

The  rider  crept  out  to  one  end.  He  might  have 
been  a  fly,  for  all  the  effect  his  weight  had  on  the 
balance.  With  his  left  hand  clinging  tightly  to  the 
steel,  his  eyes  fixed  steadily  straight  ahead,  suddenly 
he  reached  out  with  his  right  hand,  seized  the 
column,  and,  as  the  girder  slipped  into  its  seat, 
snatched  the  long,  tapered  "spud  wrench"  from 
his  belt  and  jammed  it  through  two  rivet  holes. 
The  mass  was  safely  anchored.  Back  he  crept  to 
the  other  end,  and  there  the  job  was  repeated. 

The  new  floor,  or  "tier,"  was  now  started.  Later, 
when  the  columns  and  girders  were  fitted  together 
on  all  four  sides  of  the  building,  the  flimsy  wooden 
scaffolds  would  go  up  and  the  riveters  would 
begin. 


Cowboys  of  the  Skies 


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The  cowboys  of  the  air  see  no  reason  for  fear  in  such  a  situation 
but  go  about  their  duties  in  an  easy,  matter-of-fact 
way  as  if  walking  on  solid  ground 

These  riveters  were  already  at  work  on  the  floor 
just  above  us.  Up  there  on  a  platform  three  feet 
wide  was  a  stout,  fiery  little  forge  where  the  rivets 
were   being   heated   white-hot.     The   forge   tender 


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plunged  in  his  long,  slender  tongs,  pulled  them  out 
with  a  flaming  rivet  clmched  in  their  jaws,  whirled 
them  round  in  two  sweeping  circles,  let  go — and 
the  rivet  went  sailing  a  hundred  feet,  to  be  caught 
in  a  keg  by  a  man  who  stood  poised  on  a  beam  to 
receive  it. 

It  looked  easy  enough.  But  had  the  catcher 
dodged  back  from  the  flaming  thing  flying  into  his 
hands,  he  would  have  dodged  all  the  way  to  the 
curb  below.  Nobody  misses  up  there,  though — at 
least,  only  once  in  a  very  long  time  —  and  between 
misses  nobody  thinks.  If  men  stopped  to  think, 
the  accident  rate  would  be  doubled.  So  all  is  done 
in  an  easy,  matter-of-fact  sort  of  way. 

Once,  just  as  the  man  with  the  tongs  had  started 
to  whirl  them  to  toss  off  his  missile,  the  man  with 
the  keg  threw  up  his  hand  as  a  signal  that  he  was 
not  ready.  And  then,  as  if  doing  just  what  he  had 
intended,  the  man  with  the  tongs  let  the  rivet  fly 
straight  up  into  the  air  with  a  throw  so  precise  that 
a  moment  later  it  dropped  toward  his  upturned 
face.  Like  a  ball  player  catching  a  "fly,"  he  watched 
it  come,  made  a  quick  step  aside,  caught  it  adroitly 
in  the  jaws  of  his  tongs,  and  plunged  it  back  into 
the  forge. 

On  the  outer  side  of  the  girder  to  be  riveted,  a 
narrow  scaffold  was  hung  by  ropes  from  above. 
On  this  scaffold  stood  a  man  who  received  with 
his  tongs  the  rivet,  still  flaming,  from  the  man 
who  had  caught  it  in  the  keg.  A  moment  later  he 
jammed  it  into  its  hole,  connecting  the  girder  with 


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Stattding  on  a  platform  a  few  feet  wide,  five  hundred  feet  up  in 

the  air,  the  fo-reman  calmly  explained  the  use  of 

the  pneumatic  riveter 

a  huge  column.  On  the  inside  a  third  man  lifted 
a  tool  called  a  "gun,"  a  ponderous  pneumatic  ham- 
mer driven  by  compressed  air  that  comes  through 
a  five-hundred-foot  hose  from  the  world  below.  He 
held  the  tube  firmly  against  his  stomach,  while  with 
a  deafening  rat-a-tat-tat  the  hammer  began  its 
fierce  pounding,  welding  the  red-hot  end  of  the  rivet 
flat  against  the  steel. 

Meanwhile,  looking  over  the  beam,  I  could 
see  the  man  on  the  scaffold  outside  with  a 
"Dolly  bar,"  one  end  pressed  on  the  rivet  head, 
the  other  end  tight  against  his  waist.  So  he 
held  the  rivet  in  place,  taking  the  rapid  succession 


126  A   Vocational  Reader 

of  shocks  from  the  stroke  of  the  "gun"  inside,  his 
feet  braced  firmly  on  the  planks,  his  body  bent 
forward  to  meet  the  blows  that  were  bucking  him 
off  into  space.  This  is  called  "bucking  the  Dolly 
bar" — on  a  three-foot  scaffold  out  in  the  air. 

Cowboys  they  are  in  job  and  in  soul,  these  men 
who  work  on  the  pinnacles.  Like  the  men  on  the 
plains,  they  come  from  all  over  the  world:  Ameri- 
cans, English,  Irish,  French-Canadians,  Swedes, 
now  and  then  an  Italian.  In  the  New  York  gangs 
this  year  two  full-blooded  Indians  are  at  work, 
cool-headed  and  sure,  climbing  about  on  the  dizzy 
heights,  with  only  a  glance  now  and  then  down  into 
the  tangle  of  civilization,  into  the  land  that  was 
once  theirs. 

While  I  was  up  on  the  "Metropolitan  Life," 
twenty-five  stories  below  us  the  offices  were  already 
completed,  the  business  firms  were  moving  in.  On 
the  floors  between  worked  over  a  thousand  men  at 
a  score  of  trades.  But  the  men  on  the  top  looked 
down  on  these  others  as  cattlemen  out  on  the  plains 
might  look  upon  butchers  and  tanners.  For  only 
on  top  were  the  "real  jobs,"  the  jobs  in  the  world's 
open  places. 

Rough  pioneers  are  these  men  of  steel,  pushing 
each  year  their  frontier  line  up  toward  the  clouds. 
Wanderers,  living  for  their  jobs  alone.  Reckless, 
generous,  cool-headed,  brave,  shaken  only  by  the 
grim  power  of  fate,  living  their  lives  out  fast  and 
free — the  cowboys  of  the  skies. 

— From  Everybody's  Magazine 


Benjamin  Franklin:   Printer  127 

BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN:   PRINTER 

PARK   PRESSEY 

For  three  hundred  years,  and  nobody  knows  how 
much  longer,  the  Frankhns  had  been  farmers  and 
mechanics,  with  the  eldest  son  in  each  generation 
a  blacksmith.  Therefore  it  was  by  happening  to 
be  the  youngest  son  instead  of  the  firstborn  that 
Benjamin  Franklin  escaped  a  life  at  the  forge. 
Undoubtedly  he  would  have  won  fame  for  himself 
had  he  chosen  to  be  a  follower  of  Vulcan,  but  his 
pecuhar  genius  had  a  much  better  opportunity  at 
the  printing  press  than  it  could  have  found  at  the 
anvil. 

Benjamin  Franklin  was  born  in  a  modest  house 
on  Milk  Street  in  Boston,  and  on  the  day  of 
his  birth  was  baptized  in  the  Old  South  Meeting 
House,  just  across  the  street  from  his  father's 
home. 

The  father,  Josiah  Franklin,  intended  that  Ben, 
"as  a  tithe  of  his  sons,"  should  become  a  minister, 
but  the  expense  of  sending  a  boy  through  college 
loomed  large  to  the  father  of  seventeen  children, 
and  he  soon  took  Ben  out  of  school.  In  fact,  not 
quite  two  years  of  "schooling"  were  allowed  the 
boy  who  was,  nevertheless,  destined  to  receive 
degrees  from  Harvard,  Yale,  Oxford,  Edinburgh, 
and  St.  Andrew's  universities. 

At  ten  years  of  age  Ben  was  put  to  work  in  his 
father's  "tallow  chandlery."  But  cutting  wicks, 
running  candles,   and  boiling  soap  had  very  little 


From  the  portrait  by  Joseph  SiSrein  Duplcssis 

Benjamin  Franklin 

In  the  midst  of  the  fame  and  high  honor  that  came  to  him, 

Franklin  was  most  proud  of  his  success  and 

skill  as  a  printer 


Benjamin  Franklin:  Printer  129 

attraction  for  a  youngster  who  gazed  longingly  at 
every  sloop  and  brigantine  that  tacked  into  the 
harbor,  and  who  found  keen  delight  in  lying  on  his 
back  and  being  towed  across  the  millpond  by  the 
string  of  a  kite. 

Like  a  wise  father,  Josiah  Franklin  tried  to  find 
out  just  what  the  lad  did  want  to  do  for  a  living, 
and  for  what  he  was  fitted.  He  took  Ben  to  see 
men  of  many  trades  at  their  work,  and  watched 
for  signs  of  interest  on  the  boy's  part  that  would 
help  in  fixing  upon  some  line  of  work.  In  fact, 
the  elder  Franklin  seems  to  have  been  the  first  man 
to  attempt  well-grounded  vocational  guidance  of 
his  son. 

But  Ben's  chief  interest  was  in  books.  He  has 
said  he  could  not  remember  when  he  learned  to 
read.  Long  before  he  entered  school  he  could  get 
enjoyment  out  of  such  works  as  were  found  in  the 
New  England  homes  of  that  time,  and  all  his  little 
earnings  went  for  books.  It  was  this  "bookish" 
tendency  that  finally  led  to  his  becoming  an  appren- 
tice to  his  brother  James,  who  had  thoroughly 
mastered  the  trade  of  printer  and  opened  a  shop  of 
his  own.  The  fact  that  it  would  give  him  oppor- 
tunity to  read  more  and  better  books  made  the 
printing  trade  the  more  attractive  to  Ben,  and  he 
did  not  hold  out  long  against  being  bound  to  his 
brother.  And  so,  when  he  was  twelve  years  old, 
Franklin's  vocation  in  life  was  determined,  although 
he  later  developed  a  wide  variety  of  avocations. 

A   boy   of    Ben's   versatility   could  not   long  be 

9 


130  A   Vocational  Reader 

confined  to  setting  type  and  operating  a  press.  He 
scribbled  some  verses,  and  his  brother  sent  him  out 
on  the  street  to  sell  them.  He  then  tried  writing 
prose,  but  found  he  "wanted  a  stock  of  words,  or 
readiness  in  recollecting  and  using  them."  So  he 
spent  most  of  his  spare  time  in  reading,  writing 
from  memory  what  he  had  read,  and  then  compar- 
ing his  work  with  the  original.  In  this  way  he  gained 
proficiency. 

James  Franklin  published  a  newspaper,  the 
New  England  Courant,  to  which  several  of  his 
friends  contributed  lively  articles.  One  night  Ben 
slipped  an  unsigned  piece  of  his  own  writing  under 
the  office  door,  and  waited  anxiously  for  the  com- 
ment of  his  brother's  friends.  "It  was  found  in 
the  morning,"  Franklin  says.  "They  read  it,  com- 
mented on  it  in  my  hearing,  and  I  had  the  exquisite 
pleasure  of  finding  it  met  with  their  approbation, 
and  that,  in  their  different  guesses  at  the  author, 
none  were  named  but  men  of  some  character  among 
us  for  learning  and  ingenuity."  This  encouraged 
him  to  write  more,  and  before  he  was  discovered  he 
had  contributed  many  articles  that  showed  a  vein 
of  humor  entirely  new  in  newspaper  work. 

The  paper  soon  got  James  into  trouble,  however, 
for  the  Assembly  took  offense  at  some  of  his  political 
writings,  imprisoned  him  for  a  month,  and  forbade 
him  to  publish  the  Courant.  As  a  subterfuge,  the 
paper  was  brought  out  under  the  name  of  Benjamin 
Franklin,  and  the  boy  of  seventeen  became,  in  name 
at   least,    publisher   of   one   of   the   few   successful 


Benjamin  Franklin:  Printer  131 

newspapers  in  America.  Until  his  brother's  release 
he  was  the  real  publisher. 

This  sudden  promotion  may  have  caused  the  boy 
to  assume  undue  importance,  or  his  brother  may 
have  been  jealous  of  the  lad's  success.  Anyway,  a 
long-standing  quarrel  between  the  brothers  was  now 
intensified,  and  Ben  determined  to  take  advantage 
of  a  nominal  release  from  his  apprenticeship.  As 
James  prevented  his  getting  work  with  any  other 
Boston  printerf  he  sold  some  of  his  precious  books 
to  raise  money,  stole  away,  and  took  passage  on  a 
boat  to  New  York. 

Franklin  found  no  opening  in  New  York,  but 
was  advised  to  seek  a  position  in  Philadelphia. 
Again  he  set  out  on  a  long  journey.  He  took  a 
small  boat  across  to  Perth  Amboy,  walked  the 
fifty  miles  to  Burlington,  part  of  the  way  through  a 
hard  October  rain,  and  went  down  the  river  in  a  boat, 
taking  his  turn  at  the  oars. 

It  was  a  forlorn  and  bedraggled  seventeen-year-old 
boy  who  stepped  onto  the  wharf  in  Philadelphia. 
"I  was  in  my  working  dress,"  Franklin  says,  "my 
best  clothes  being  to  come  around  by  sea.  I  was 
dirty  from  my  journey;  my  pockets  were  stuffed 
out  with  shirts  and  stockings,  and  I  knew  no  soul  nor 
where  to  look  for  lodging.  I  was  hungry;  and  my 
whole  stock  of  cash  consisted  of  a  Dutch  dollar  and 
about  a  shilling  in  copper." 

The  first  thing  he  did  was  to  hunt  up  a  baker  and 
ask  for  bread — "three  pennyworth  of  any  sort." 
He  got  "three  great  puffy  rolls,"  and  with  a  roll 


132  A  Vocational  Reader 

under  each  arm  and  eating  the  third,  he  started 
up  Market  Street.  On  the  way  he  passed,  at  her 
father's  door,  the  girl  who  was  to  become  his  wife; 
but  there  was  very  Httle  in  his  appearance  that 
morning  to  attract  admiring  female  glances,  or  to 
indicate  that  this  comical  youth  was  destined  to 
do  more  for  the  development  of  Philadelphia  than 
any  other  one  person. 

In  one  way,  however,  the  Boston  boy  was  very 
fortunate;  he  had  learned  his  trade  from  a  good 
workman,  and  learned  it  well.  So  he  soon  found 
work,  with  a  printer  by  the  name  of  Keimer. 

There  were  only  two  printing  shops  in  Philadel- 
phia at  that  time,  and  neither  could  turn  out  very 
good  work.  Therefore,  Governor  Keith,  when  he 
learned  of  the  boy's  skill,  suggested  that  Franklin 
set  up  a  shop  for  himself.  He  promised  the  govern- 
ment business,  and  even  offered  to  finance  the 
project.  On  the  strength  of  this  proffered  help, 
Ben  took  passage  for  England  to  procure  an  outfit, 
only  to  find  at  the  end  of  his  journey  that  the 
governor's  promises  were  merely  "bluff."  It  was 
a  scurvy  trick  to  play  on  a  boy  of  eighteen ! 

Now  there  was  nothing  for  Franklin  to  do 
but  hunt  up  a  job,  while  his  dreams  of  becoming 
a  master  printer  went  "  a-glimmering. "  He  soon 
found  a  place  with  a  good  printer,  and  went  to 
work  industriously.  After  a  year  in  this  shop  he 
got  work  with  one  of  the  best  printing  houses  in 
London,  and  there  received  splendid  training  in 
the  making  of  books. 


Benjamin  Franklin:  Printer  133 

It  was  at  about  this  time  that  his  skill  in  the 
water  nearly  led  to  his  becoming  a  swimming  in- 
structor, for  Sir  William  Wyndham  offered  excel- 
lent pay  for  teaching  his  two  sons.  Although  a 
chance  to  return  to  America  turned  him  away  from 
a  life  as  a  professional  swimmer,  he  never  got  over 
his  love  for  the  water.  When  eighty  years  old,  he 
was  in  a  hot  salt-water  bath  when  he  fell  asleep 
while  floating  on  his  back,  and  for  a  full  hour 
peacefully  slep4  and  floated. 

The  return  to  his  native  land  came  at  the  end 
of  eighteen  months  in  London.  A  Quaker  merchant, 
about  to  go  back  to  Philadelphia,  gave  him  a  fine 
chance  as  confidential  clerk,  and  he  eagerly  took 
it.  Work  in  the  store  and  office  proved  congen- 
ial, and  he  soon  grew  "expert  in  selling."  It  now 
appeared  that  his  days  as  a  printer  were  ended. 
But  he  was  not  to  become  a  merchant;  within  a 
few  months  his  employer  died,  and  Ben  was  out  of 
a  job. 

A  skilled  mechanic  is  seldom  long  without  work, 
however,  and  Franklin  was  the  best  printer  in 
Philadelphia.  He  was  gladly  taken  back  by  his 
former  employer,  Keimer,  and  made  superintendent 
of  the  shop. 

But  Franklin  did  not  remain  long  an  employee. 
In  partnership  with  another  of  Keimer's  men  he  soon 
started  a  small  business  of  his  own.  This  grew 
wonderfully,  for  Franklin's  thorough  knowledge  of 
the  printing  trade,  his  skill,  industry,  and  geniality 
brought  much  business  to  his  shop.     It  was  indeed 


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Courtesy  of  the  Bostonian  Society 

The  press  and  type  cases  upon  which  worked  the  great  man  who 
was  proud  of  his  success  as  a  printer 

his  shop,  for  the  partner  proved  incompetent  and 
soon  withdrew  from  the  firm. 

Experience  with  the  New  England  Cottrant  had 
given  him  an  insight  into  newspaper  work  and  now 
led  him  to  try  pubHshing.  Under  his  direction  and 
enHvened  by  his  witty  yet  sensible  writings,  the 
Pennsylvania  Gazette  came  to  have  the  leading  place 
among    Philadelphia    papers.     But    it    was    Poor 


Benjamin  Franklin:  Printer  135 

Richard's  Almanack  that  gave  him  greatest  fame 
as  a  pubHsher.  Some  one  has  said  that  Ameri- 
can humor  began  with  this  pubHcation.  In  it  were 
gathered  wise  sayings  from  the  writers  of  ages; 
but  it  was  Frankhn's  genius  and  his  keen  sense  of 
humor  that  made  it  a  household  treasure.  It  was 
translated  into  every  language  of  Europe  and 
went  all  over  the  civilized  world.  To  it  is  credited 
much  of  the  industry  and  thrift  developed  in  the 
country  people  of  America  during  the  eighteenth 
century. 

The  step  from  publisher  into  public  life  was  a 
natural  one.  "The  leading  men,  seeing  a  newspaper 
now  in  the  hands  of  one  who  could  also  handle  a 
pen,  thought  it  convenient  to  oblige  and  encourage 
me,"  Franklin  says.  This  resulted  in  his  being 
made  public  printer,  and,  a  little  later,  clerk  of  the 
Assembly.  He  continued  as  clerk  until  chosen 
representative,  and  in  the  meantime  he  received 
appointment  as  postmaster  of  Philadelphia. 

When  only  a  little  past  forty  years  of  age,  Franklin 
took  as  a  partner  a  competent  young  man  with  whom 
he  had  worked  in  London.  Thereafter  virtually  his 
whole  time  was  given  to  public  affairs  and  scientific 
research;  in  this  way  more  than  half  of  a  long  life 
was  devoted  to  the  service  of  his  country.  For 
eighteen  years,  just  prior  to  the  Revolution,  he  was 
agent  for  Pennsylvania  and  other  colonies,  to 
present  their  grievances  to  George  II  and  his 
successor,  George  III.  During  these  troublesome 
years  he  tried  not  only  to  get  their  just  rights  for  the 


136 


A  Vocational  Reader 


Photograph  from  Rene  Bache 

Franklin,  with  his  grandson  and  daughter,  entertaining 
friends  in  his  garden 

people  he  represented  but  to  develop  a  better  feel- 
ing between  the  mother  country  and  her  daughters 
across  the  ocean. 

When  it  became  useless  and  dangerous  for  him 
to  remain  longer  in  England,  Franklin  returned  to 
America,  and  he  had  no  more  than  landed  when  he 
was  chosen  delegate  to  the  Continental  Congress. 
There  he  had  an  important  part  in  shaping  the 
destinies  of  the  colonies  and  in  binding  them  into 
a  body  working  each  for  all — "lest  they  hang 
separately." 

At  the  age  of  seventy,  when  many  men  think 
their  working  life  is  over,  Franklin  undertook  the 
journey  to  France  to  enlist  the  aid  of  that  nation  in 
support  of  the  colonies.     After  accomplishing  the 


Benjamin  Franklin:  Printer  137 

object  of  his  visit,  he  remained  to  arrange  a  treaty 
of  peace  between  England  and  America,  and  then 
stayed  on  as  ambassador  for  the  new  nation.  Not 
until  he  was  almost  eighty  years  of  age  was  he 
allowed  to  relinquish  his  duties  in  Paris. 

"The  many-sided  Franklin"  is  indeed  an  appro- 
priate designation.  Seldom  is  it  granted  to  one  man 
to  distinguish  himself  in  so  many  ways.  It  has 
taken  volumes  to  tell  of  his  achievements. 

All  are  fanwliar  with  the  famous  experiments 
whereby  he  identified  lightning  with  electricity,  and 
his  invention  of  the  lightning  rod.  But  that  was  a 
small  part  of  his  scientific  work.  He  studied  the 
effect  of  the  Gulf  Stream  and  plotted  its  course. 
He  discovered  the  fact  that  storms  progress  against 
the  wind.  The  effect  of  oil  on  troubled  waters  was 
first  made  known  through  him,  and  he  proved  his 
startling  statement  that  rivers  do  not  always  run 
into  the  sea. 

The  beginning  of  heating  by  stoves  came  with 
Franklin's  invention  of  the  "Pennsylvania  fireplace." 
He  made  for  himself  glasses  with  double  lenses, 
that  he  need  not  change  from  one  pair  to  another  — 
the  present  "bi-focals."  Many  other  inventions 
were  due  to  his  genius ;  but  he  would  never  take  out 
a  patent,  for  he  said,  "As  we  enjoy  great  advantages 
from  the  inventions  of  others,  we  should  be  glad  of 
an  opportunity  to  serve  others;  and  this  we  should 
do  freely  and  generously."  Thomas  Jefferson  once 
said,  "You  know  the  just  esteem  which  attached 
itself  to  Dr.  Franklin's  science,  because  he  always 


138  A   Vocational  Reader 

endeavored  to  direct  it  to  something  useful  in 
private  life." 

Franklin  was  also  a  musician  of  considerable 
ability.  He  played  the  violin,  harp,  and  guitar, 
and  after  listening  to  music  made  on  glasses 
filled  to  varying  heights  with  water,  he  invented 
an  instrument  of  glass  which  he  called  the 
"armonica." 

Philadelphia  owes  so  many  things  to  the  far- 
sightedness and  public  spirit  of  Franklin  that  it 
is  impossible  here  to  more  than  name  a  few  of 
them.  When  he  first  went  to  the  town  he  formed 
a  debating  society,  called  the  Junto,  which  grew 
into  the  American  Philosophical  Society,  and 
through  which  the  public  library  was  established. 
The  first  fire  company,  police  system,  and  colonial 
militia  of  the  province  were  organized  by  him.  He 
arranged  for  street  cleaning  and  lighting,  and 
improved  upon  the  lights  generally  used  for 
street  purposes.  Owing  to  his  suggestion  and 
encouragement  a  hospital  was  established,  and 
the  University  of  Pennsylvania  is  a  direct  out- 
growth from  the  academy  he  was  instrumental 
in    founding. 

To  the  end  of  his  eighty -four  years,  Franklin  was 
proud  of  his  success  as  a  printer,  and  when  he  came 
to  the  writing  of  his  will  he  began  that  document 
with:  "I,  Benjamin  Franklin,  Printer,  late  Minister 
Plenipotentiary  from  the  United  States  of  America 
to  the  Court  of  France,  and  now  President  of  the 
State  of  Pennsylvania." 


The  Printer's  Song  139 

THE   PRINTER'S   SONG 

J.    C.    PRINCE 

Pick  and  click 

Goes  the  type  in  the  stick, 

As  the  printer  stands  at  his  case; 

His  eyes  glance  quick,  as  his  fingers  pick 
The  type  at  a  rapid  pace ; 

And,  one  by  one  as  the  letters  go, 

Words  are  pile^  up,  steady  and  slow. 

Steady  and  slow 

But  still  they  grow, 
And  words  of  fire  they  soon  will  glow ;  — 
Wonderful  words,  that  without  a  sound 
Traverse  the  earth  to  its  utmost  bound; — 

Words  that  shall  make 

The  tyrant  quake, 
And  the  fetters  of  the  oppressed  shall  break; 
Words  that  can  crumble  an  army's  might. 
Or  treble  its  strength  in  a  righteous  fight ;  — 
Yet  the  type  they  look  but  leaden  and  dumb, 
As  he  puts  them  in  place  with  finger  and  thumb. 

But  the  printer  smiles, 

As  his  work  he  beguiles 
By  chanting  a  song  as  the  letters  he  piles. 

With  pick  and  click. 
Like  the  world's  chronometer,  tick,  tick,  tick! 


I40  A  Vocational  Reader 

"Oh,  where  is  the  man  with  such  simple  tools 
Can  govern  the  world  as  I? 

With  a  printing  press,  an  iron  stick, 
And  a  little  leaden  die. 

With  paper  of  white,  and  ink  of  black, 

I  support  the  Right  and  the  Wrong  attack." 

Say,  where  is  he,  or  who  may  he  be, 

That  can  rival  the  printer's  power? 
To  no  monarchs  that  live  the  wall  doth  he  give ;  — 

Their  sway  lasts  only  an  hour; 
While  the  printer  still  grows,  and  God  only  knows 

When  his  might  shall  cease  to  tower ! 

PAUL  REVERE :  GOLDSMITH 

PARK    PRESSEY 

Many  a  boy  has  declaimed  from  a  school  plat- 
form that 

On  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  seventy-five, 

a  certain  Paul  Revere  rode  through  the  night  until 
his  cry  of  alarm  spread 

To  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm. 

But  how  many  know  whether  the  hero  of  the 
"midnight  ride"  ever  merited  praise  in  any  other 
way?  How  many  know  what  he  did  to  earn  a 
living  in  an  everyday,  prosaic  world  ?  For  the  sub- 
ject of  the  poet's  fancy  was,  in  real  life,  a  very  sub- 
stantial, very  human  person,  with  a  large  number 
of  mouths  to  feed;  and  although  romantic  episodes 
are  gratifying  to  future  generations  they  do  not,  as 


-^tA<?'2<f 


The  Halliday  Historic  Photograph  Co.     From  a  portrait  by  St.  Memin 

Paul  Revere 

The  hero  of  Lexington  whose  ability  as  a  mechanic  was  of 

no  less  value  to  the  cause  of  freedom  than 

was  his  famous  ride 


142  A  Vocational  Reader 

a  rule,  help  those  immediately  concerned  to  meet 
the  "high  cost  of  living." 

Properly  to  appreciate  the  work  of  Paul  Revere 
it  is  necessary  to  go  back  a  generation  or  two,  for 
in  his  case  it  is  true  not  only  that  the  "child  was 
father  to  the  man"  but  also  that  "the  boy  was  the 
son  of  his  father." 

Paul's  father  was  of  a  good  old  Huguenot  family 
which  had  suffered  hardship  from  the  religious 
persecutions  in  France.  In  1715,  when  a  boy  of 
thirteen,  he  was  sent  from  his  home  in  Guernsey 
to  Boston  to  learn  the  goldsmith's  trade.  It  was 
a  long,  slow  journey  by  sailing  vessel,  but  to  a  boy 
of  thirteen  every  moment  was  interesting.  In  Bos- 
ton he  became  apprentice  to  a  goldsmith,  took  nat- 
urally to  the  work,  and  rapidly  mastered  the  trade. 

In  his  Huguenot  home  the  boy's  name  was 
Apollos  Rivoire,  but  this  gave  the  people  in  the  new 
country  so  much  trouble  that,  when  the  time  came 
to  open  a  shop  of  his  own,  he  called  himself  Paul 
Revere,  "merely  on  account  the  bumpkins  should 
pronounce  it  easier." 

The  Paul  Revere  of  Lexington  fame  was  the 
eldest  son  of  the  youth  from  Guernsey.  He  was 
destined  to  take  up  the  work  which  his  father  came 
across  the  ocean  to  learn;  but,  through  better 
education  and  greater  opportunity,  he  was  to  carry 
it  to  far  higher  degree  of  excellence.  After  finish- 
ing at  the  old  North  Grammar  School,  he  entered 
his  father's  shop  and  soon  showed  great  ability 
and  liking  for  the  work.     He  had  skill  as  an  engraver, 


Paul  Revere:  Goldsmith 


143 


Photograph  by  the  Halliday  Historic  Photograph  Co. 

A  Paul  Revere  bell  which  still  rings  praise  oj  the  man 
who  did  many  things  well 

an  important  part  of  the  trade,  and  good  taste  in 
designing.  Many  pieces  of  gold  and  silver — chains, 
necklaces,  ewers,  spoons,  cups,  and  tankards — that 
bear  the  mark  of  Paul  Revere  are  still  treasured  for 
their  beauty  as  well  as  for  their  associations. 

Revere's  skill  in  handling  the  graver  led  him  to 
take  up  the  new  enterprise  of  engraving  on  copper 
plate,  a  craft  which  at  that  time  was,  throughout 
the  colonies,  carried  on  by  not  more  than  a  half 
dozen  men.  He  studied  this  out  for  himself,  and 
considering  that  the  art  was  then  crude  at  its  best, 
he  attained  very  good  results.     Pictures  from  his 


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plates  had  much  to  do  with  arousing  patriotic  spirit, 
for  he  was  an  ardent  patriot,  with  a  keen  sense  of 
humor,  and  the  pictures  turned  to  ridicule  such 
obnoxious  measures  as  the  Stamp  Act,  the  Port 
Bill,  the  tax  on  tea. 

The  engravings  of  Revere  were  not,  however,  con- 
fined to  caricature,  for  he  made  views  of  Harvard 
College,  the  town  of  Boston,  and  portraits  of  Han- 
cock and  Adams. 
He  engraved  plates 
from  which  colonial 
notes  were  printed, 
and  made  a  press 
for  the  printing. 
The  first  seal  of  the 
Commonwealth  of 
Massachusetts  was 
the  work  of  his 
clever  hands. 
With  his  good  health,  abundant  energy,  and 
especially  his  skill  as  a  workman.  Revere  naturally 
became  a  leader  in  the  meetings  of  Boston  young 
men,  "chiefly  mechanics,"  which  were  held  at  the 
Green  Dragon  Tavern  in  the  exciting  times  just 
before  the  Revolution.  He  was  prominent  among 
the  "Sons  of  Liberty,"  and  so  became  intimate 
with  Warren,  Hancock,  the  Adamses,  and  other 
zealous  advocates  of  the  colonies'  rights. 

From  the  records  of  the  Masons,  of  which  order 
Revere  was  a  prominent  member,  and  later  Grand 
Master,  we  read:    "Adjournment  on  account  of  the 


C'ourteriy  of  Mrs.  Marsden  J.  Perry 

This  bowl  was  made  by  Paul  Revere 
for  the  Sons  of  Liberty 


Paul  Revere:  Goldsmith  145 

few  Brothers  present.  N.B.  Consignment  of  Tea 
took  the  Brethren's  time."  This  gives  an  interest- 
ing side-Hght  on  the  stirring  times  of  which  Paul 
Revere  was  a  part. 

The  next  day  after  the  famous  "Tea  Party," 
Revere  set  off  on  horseback  to  carry  the  news 
to  the  "Sons  of  Liberty"  in  New  York  and  Phila- 
delphia. During  the  days  that  followed  this  trip, 
he  rode  thousands  of  miles,  through  heat  and  cold, 
through  sunshiije  and  storm,  as  messenger  from  one 
colony  to  another  and  to  the  Continental  Congress. 
Thus'  he  was  in  good  trim  when  the  time  came  for 
the  one  ride  which,  through  a  poet's  skill,  was  to 
make  his  name  renowned  forever. 

In  the  fall  of  1775  it  became  very  difficult  to  get 
sufficient  powder  for  the  Continental  army.  There 
was  only  one  powder  mill,  and  that  near  Philadel- 
phia. So  the  leaders  of  the  cause  in  New  England 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  plan  for  Revere,  on 
one  of  his  trips  to  the  Quaker  City,  to  learn  how  to 
make  powder.  They  gave  him  letters  of  introduc- 
tion to  the  mill  owner,  and  these  were  indorsed 
by  the  most  active  patriots  in  Philadelphia.  But 
the  owner  of  the  mill  had  no  intention  of  giving  up 
his  monopoly;  he  absolutely  refused  to  give  any 
instruction.  After  long  urging  he  did  grudgingly 
grant  permission  for  Revere  to  walk  through  the 
works,  thinking,  no  doubt,  that  could  do  no  harm. 
Little  did  he  realize  Revere's  powers  of  observation 
and  his  ability  to  take  full  advantage  of  every 
opportunity.     From    what   he   saw   that   day,    the 

10 


146  A   Vocational  Reader 

messenger  from  Massachusetts  was  able,  on  reach- 
ing home,  to  set  up  a  mill  and  begin  the  manu- 
facture of  gunpowder. 

Nearly  all  through  the  Revolution,  Revere  was 
in  the  service  of  the  colonies.  He  was  commissioned 
lieutenant  colonel  of  the  militia  and  for  some  time 
was  in  charge  of  Castle  William  in  Boston  Harbor, 
Of  course  he  received  pay  for  his  later  service,  but 
much  of  his  messenger  work  was  purely  voluntary. 
As  one  has  said  of  him, ' '  During  all  these  years  he  had 
a  large  family  dependent  upon  him;  yet  he  was  so 
constituted  as  to  find  sufficient  leisure  to  interest  him- 
self with  all  matters  pertaining  to  the  public  good." 

After  the  war,  Paul  Revere  went  back  to  his 
shop.  About  this  time  he  wrote  his  cousin  in  Guern- 
sey: "I  did  intend  to  have  gone  wholly  into  trade, 
but  the  principal  part  of  my  interest  I  lent  to  the 
government,  which  I  have  not  been  able  to  with- 
draw; so  I  must  content  myself  till  I  can  do  better." 
Thus  we  see  that  he  intrusted  his  money  as  well  as 
his  service  to  the  cause  of  liberty.  However,  he 
adds  in  the  same  letter,  "I  am  in  middling  circum- 
stances, and  very  well  off  for  a  tradesman." 

The  scope  of  his  trade  greatly  enlarged  through 
the  natural  demand  that  followed  from  his  ability  to 
meet  need  as  it  came.  He  opened  a  foundry  for 
casting  cannon,  and  soon  added  the  business  of 
bell  making.  Ever  on  the  alert  to  learn  something 
new,  he  was  the  first  man  in  this  country  to 
make  copper  sufficiently  malleable  that  it  could 
be  formed  into  spikes  and  rivets.     He  knew  such  a 


Paul  Revere:  Goldsmith 


147 


Paul  Revere  silver  presented  to  Edmund  Hartt,  builder  of  the  U.S. 

Fyigate  ^'Boston."     While  nobly  and  constantly  serving  the 

cause  of  the  Revolution ,  Paul  Revere  was  supporting 

a  large  family  with  stich  handiwork  as  this 

thing  was  possible,  for  it  was  being  done  in  England, 
so  he  worked  away  at  it  until  he  discovered  the 
secret — in  time  to  furnish  all  the  brass  and  copper 
work,  "bolts,  spikes,  cogs,  braces,  pintles,  sheaves, 
and  pumps,"  for  the  building  of  Old  Ironsides. 
He  also  mastered  the  art  of  rolling  copper  plate, 
and  this  same  Ironsides  went  to  her  battle  with  the 
Guerriere  covered  with  copper  provided  by  Revere. 

When  the  new  State  House  was  built  in  Boston, 
Revere  furnished  the  six  thousand  feet  of  sheet 
copper  required  to  cover  the  dome,  while  as  Grand 
Master  of  the  Grand  Lodge  of  Masons  he  had  an 
important  part  in  laying  the  cornerstone. 

In  1 80 1  the  copper  works  were  removed  to  Canton, 
Massachusetts,  and  the  business  established  there 


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A   Vocational  Reader 


by  "Paul  Revere  &  Son"  continued  to  thrive  until 
a  very  few  years  ago,  when  it  was  absorbed  by  a 
"combination."  Yet  nearly  all  the  years  of  his 
active  life  the  founder  of  this  concern  signed  himself 
simply  "Paul  Revere,  Goldsmith." 


Photograph  by  the  Halliday  Hiatoric  Photograph  Co.       i 

Paul  Revere' s  home  for  thirty  years,  now  Boston's  oldest  house 

Revere  lived  to  be  eighty-three  years  old,  surviv- 
ing all  but  five  of  his  sixteen  children.  Even  in  his 
old  age  he  lost  little  of  his  vigor  and  none  of  his 
stanch  patriotism.  When,  in  the  War  of  1812,  it 
seemed  probable  that  the  enemy  would  make  an  at- 
tack upon  Boston,  the  bold  signature  of  Paul  Revere 
headed  a  list  of  names  of  men  who  pledged  their 
services  in  defense  of  the  town,  and  it  is  supposed 
that    he    was    the    one    to    draw    up    the    pledge. 


The  Song  of  Steam  149 

About  1770  Revere  bought  a  house  in  North 
Square,  then  a  fashionable  part  of  Boston,  and  this 
was  his  home  for  thirty  years.  In  connection  with 
his  selHng  off  a  small  part  of  the  land,  there  is  this 
quaint  statement,  written  by  the  purchaser  and 
attached   to   the   deed: 

This  is  to  tell  them  that  ones  [owns]  this  a  state  [estate] 
after  me -that  Paul  Revere  have  Bult  a  Barn  &  set  the 
Barn  on  my  Land  one  feet  which  he  Is  to  Remove  When- 
ever the  Person  that  ones  this  Land  shall  Desire  him  or 
them  that  ones  ^is  Land  after  him. 

The  barn  disappeared  many  years  ago,  but  we 
do  not  know  whether  it  was  ever  removed  "one 
feet"  by  "them  that  ones  this  a  state."  The 
house,  a  hundred  years  old  when  Revere  bought 
it,  is  still  standing.  Each  year  it  is  visited  by 
thousands  of  persons  from  all  parts  of  the  country. 

To  this  day  several  church  bells  remain,  as  good 
as  when  cast,  to  ring  their  praise  of  Paul  Revere's 
careful  workmanship — their  honor  to  the  man 
who  did  everything  well. — From  St.  Nicholas 

THE   SONG   OF   STEAM 

G.    W.    CUTTER 

Harness  me  down  with  your  iron  bands, 

Be  sure  of  your  curb  and  rein. 
For  I  scorn  the  strength  of  your  puny  hands 

As  a  tempest  scorns  a  chain. 
How  I  laughed  as  I  lay  concealed  from  sight 

For  many  a  countless  hour. 
At  the  childish  boasts  of  human  might, 

And  the  pride  of  human  power! 


150  A   Vocational  Reader 

When  I  saw  an  army  upon  the  land, 

A  navy  upon  the  seas, 
Creeping  along,  a  snail-like  band, 

Or  waiting  the  wayward  breeze; 
.  When  I  marked  the  peasant  faintly  reel 

With  the  toil  that  he  daily  bore, 
As  he  feebly  turned  the  tardy  wheel, 

Or  tugged  at  the  weary  oar; 

When  I  measured  the  panting  courser's  speed, 

The  flight  of  the  carrier  dove, 
As  they  bore  the  law  a  king  decreed. 

Or  the  lines  of  impatient  love, 
I  could  but  think  how  the  world  would  feel. 

As  these  were  outstripped  afar, 
When  I  should  be  bound  to  the  rushing  keel. 

Or  chained  to  the  flying  car. 

Ha!  ha!  ha!  they  found  me  at  last, 

They  invited  me  forth  at  length. 
And  I  rushed  to  my  throne  with  a  thunder  blast, 

And  laughed  in  my  iron  strength! 
Oh,  then  ye  saw  a  wondrous  change 

On  the  earth  and  ocean  wide, 
Where  now  my  fiery  armies  range, 

Nor  wait  for  wind  or  tide' 

Hurrah!  hurrah!  the  water  o'er 

The  mountain's  steep  decline; 
Time — space — have  yielded  to  my  power: 

The  world,  the  world  is  mine! 


The  Song  of  Steam  151 

The  rivers  the  sun  hath  earliest  blest, 

Or  those  where  his  beams  decline, 
The  giant  streams  of  the  queenly  West, 

Or  the  Orient  floods  divine. 

The  ocean  pales  wherever  I  sweep 

To  hear  my  strength  rejoice, 
And  m6nsters  of  the  briny  deep 

Cower  trembling  at  my  voice. 
I  carry  the  -health  of  the  lord  of  earth, 

The  thoughts  of  his  godlike  mind; 
The  wind  lags  after  my  going  forth. 

The  lightning  is  left  behind. 

In  the  darksome  depths  of  the  fathomless  mine 

My  tireless  arm  doth  play, 
Where  the  rocks  ne'er  saw  the  sun's  decline 

Or  the  dawn  of  the  glorious  day; 
I  bring' earth's  glittering  jewels  up 

From  the  hidden  caves  below, 
And  I  make  the  fountain's  granite  cup 

With  a  crystal  gush  o'erflow. 

I  blow  the  bellows,  I  forge  the  steel, 

In  all  the  shops  of  trade; 
I  hammer  the  ore  and  turn  the  wheel 

Where  my  arms  of  strength  are  made; 
I  manage  the  furnace,  the  mill,  the  mint, 

I  carry,  I  spin,  I  weave. 
And  all  my  doings  I  put  into  print 

On  every  Saturday  eve. 


152  A   Vocational  Reader 

I've  no  muscles  to  weary,  no  brains  to  decay, 

No  bones  to  be  laid  on  the  shelf, 
And  soon  I  intend  you  may  go  and  play, 

While  I  manage  the  world  myself. 
But  harness  me  down  with  your  iron  bands. 

Be  sure  of  your  curb  and  rein, 
For  I  scorn  the  strength  of  your  puny  hands 

As  the  tempest  scorns  the  chain. 

THE  MAN  WHO  CHEAPENED  TACKS 

ADAPTED 

Thomas  Blanchard  is  best  known  as  the  man 
who  invented  the  lathe  which  turns  gunstocks, 
shoe  lasts,  and  all  sorts  of  wooden  objects  which 
cannot  be  made  on  a  common  lathe.  In  fact,  when 
Blanchard  was  trying  to  get  Congress  to  give  him  a 
special  patent,  he  set  his  machine  to  making  busts 
in  oak  of  prominent  statesmen,  until,  as  was  said, 
"he  quite  turned  the  heads  of  the  legislators,"  and 
got  them  to  vote  as  he  wished. 

His  talent  for  contriving  and  building  showed 
almost  from  his  cradle.  When  he  was  only  ten  he 
whittled  out  a  tiny  mill  which  went  either  by  wind 
or  by  water;  and  he  was  never  so  happy  as  when 
work  and  lessons  were  done  and  he  could  take  up 
knife  or  chisel. 

There  was  little  in  the  boy's  home  or  neighbor- 
hood to  encourage  a  budding  mechanic.  His  father 
was  a  farmer  who  cared  nothing  for  tools  or  machin- 
ery.    The  nearest  blacksmith's  shop  was  six  miles 


The  Man  Who  Cheapened  Tacks  153 

away,  and  seldom  indeed  was  the  boy  allowed  to 
visit  it. 

One  day,  however,  his  father  did  take  him  to  see 
a  horse  shod.  Then  for  the  first  time  young  Blan- 
chard  saw  a  smith  weld  two  pieces  of  iron  together 
as  if  they  were  mere  dough  on  a  baking  board. 
Why  not,  he  thought,  repeat  the  marvel  at  home? 

There  was  an  old  shed  belonging  to  his  father, 
once  used  for  weaving  but  now  cumbered  with  hoes 
and  harrows,  j^ows  and  spades,  both  old  and  new. 
In  one  corner  lay  a  heap  of  scrap  iron,  from  which 
the  lad  chose  pieces  likely  to  be  useful.  With 
stones  and  bricks  picked  up  in  the  farmyard,  he 
built  a  little  forge  like  the  blacksmith's.  For  fuel, 
when  his  mother's  back  was  turned,  he  took  the 
charred  sticks  from  the  kitchen  grate,  drenched  them 
with  water,  and  stored  them  away  to  dry.  For  anvil, 
he  used  a  large  iron  wedge  firmly  driven  into  a  log. 

When  these  preparations  were  well  under  way 
Thomas  heard  joyful  news.  His  father  and  mother 
were  to  drive  next  morning  to  visit  a  friend  twenty 
miles  away.  While  they  were  gone  he  could  weld 
all  the  iron  he  hked. 

Hardly  were  the  old  people  out  of  sight  before  the 
boy  had  his  fire  lighted  and  was  plying  a  bellows 
at  the  little  forge.  In  a  few  minutes  the  iron  scraps 
had  begun  to  soften  in  the  fierce  blaze,  and  the 
delighted  boy  was  bending  and  twisting  and  shaping 
them  into  any  form  he  pleased. 

But  to  weld  the  pieces  together  proved  beyond 
his  power.     No  heating  or  hammering  would  make 


154  ^   Vocational  Reader 

them  stick,  and  Thomas  saw  to  his  dismay  that  the 
art  of  welding  iron  is  by  no  means  so  easy  as  it 
looks,  and  that  he  must  call  a  second  time  on  the 
blacksmith. 

As  the  lad  stood  woefully  surveying  his  work,  in 
strode  his  father,  who,  seeing  the  smoke  and  fire, 
had  hurried  back  to  find  out  what  it  all  meant. 
But  when  the  father  saw  how  much  pluck  and 
ingenuity  his  son  had  shown,  he  had  not  the  heart 
to  punish  the  lad  but  let  him  off  with  a  scolding. 
Better  still,  he  decided  that  if  the  boy  was  born  to 
be  a  mechanic,  there  was  no  use  in  trying  to  make  a 
farmer  of  him. 

"Well,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "learn  blacksmithing 
if  you  like.  Only  learn  it  thoroughly,  and  never 
let  a  job  leave  your  hands  unless  it  is  the  best  you 
can  do." 

So  Thomas  learned  the  blacksmith's  trade;  and 
after  his  apprenticeship  was  over,  went  to  work  for 
his  elder  brother  Steven. 

Steven  had  a  shop  in  a  neighboring  town,  where  he 
kept  twenty  men  and  boys  busy  making  tacks.  At 
that  time,  early  in  the  nineteenth  century,  all  such 
work  was  done  by  hand.  Each  tack,  no  matter  how 
small,  was  sharpened  separately  on  an  anvil.  Then 
it  was  set  in  a  vice,  and  the  head  formed  by  blows 
of  a  light  hammer.  The  work  was  very  tedious, 
and  even  the  best  workman  could  make  so  small  a 
number  of  tacks  in  a  day  that  of  necessity  his  wages 
were  small,  also.  Moreover,  one  workman  out  of 
the  twenty  had  to  spend  all  his  time  counting  the 


The  Man  Who  Cheapened  Tacks 


155 


Photograph  by  Eugene  J.  Hall 

The  country  blacksmith  of  former  times  worked  laboriously  and 

long  to  make  tacks  that  are  now  turned  out  by  hundreds 

in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  wink  an  eye 

finished  tacks  and  putting  them  up,  a  hundred  in 
a  package. 

Thomas'  work  was  to  head  the  tacks.  But  the 
monotonous  toil  soon  disgusted  the  clever  lad. 
The  first  thing  he  did  was  to  invent  a  machine  for 
counting  tacks  which  rang  a  bell  as  each  hun- 
dredth tack  was  formed.  By  this  means,  the  man 
who  had  been  counting  tacks  was  set  free  to  make 
them,  and  the  profits  of  the  shop  were  so  much  to 
the  good. 

Blanchard  then  proposed  to  make  a  machine  to 


156  A   Vocational  Reader 

head  the  tacks.  But  his  brother  would  not  Hsten. 
"It  takes  a  knack,"  he  said,  "to  make  a  tack.  No 
machine  can  do  it." 

Nevertheless,  Blanchard,  who  was  then  eighteen, 
began  to  build  his  machine.  He  went  from  place  to 
place,  working  at  one  shop  and  another,  and  wher- 
ever he  worked  at  his  trade  he  had  his  machine  with 
him ;  and  every  spare  moment  he  could  find  he  spent 
in  improving  it. 

Six  years  it  took  him  to  make  a  model  that  he  was 
willing  to  show  his  brother.  He  assembled  his 
family,  and  started  his  machine.  Thirty  tacks  a 
second  it  turned  out,  all  alike  and  all  with  far  better 
points  and  heads  than  the  best  workman  could  make 
by  hand. 

Blanchard  sold  his  patent  for  five  thousand 
dollars.  This  was  much  less  than  it  was  worth, 
for  the  purchaser,  getting  his  tacks  made  nearly 
two  thousand  to  the  minute,  shrewdly  marketed 
them  without  telling  that  they  were  machine  made, 
and  got  the  price  of  hand-made  goods.  Naturally, 
he  made  money. 

To-day,  of  course,  everybody  knows  that  tacks 
are  machine  made,  and  will  pay  only  a  few  cents  a 
hundred  for  them.  Meanwhile  the  invention  has 
been  improved  until  it  now  turns  out  nearly  fifty 
tacks  a  second,  while  a  man  and  a  boy  can  between 
them  run  twelve  machines  at  once. 

Five  hundred  tacks  a  second  is,  then,  the  rate 
for  one  man  and  a  helper.  Actually,  thanks  to 
Thomas  Blanchard,  a  workman  makes  more  tacks 


The  Story  of  the  Heavy-Gun  Pointer  157 

while  he  winks  his  eye  once  than  he  could  have  made 

in  a  whole  hour  a  hundred  years  ago. 

Blanchard  lived  to  be  an  old  man  and  made  many 

other  profitable  inventions — among  them  a  machine 

for  putting  the  bend  into  plow  handles  and  hockey 

sticks. 

— Adapted  from  Leading  American  Inventors 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  HEAVY-GUN  POINTER 

GEORGE    FLINT 

I  was  fourteen  when  my  father's  death  put  an 
end  to  all  hope  of  further  schooling,  and  set  me 
looking  about  for  some  way  to  make  a  living. 

The  more  I  thought  things  over,  the  more  sure  I 
became  that  whatever  I  did,  I  did  not  want  to  work 
in  the  city.  To  be  shut  up  for  life  in  a  town  shop 
between  brick  walls  seemed  to  me  to  make  life  not 
worth  living.  And  yet,  though  brought  up  in  the 
country,  I  did  not  want  to  farm.  So  far  as  I  could 
make  out,  my  keenest  interest  was  in  tools  and 
machinery.  Always,  from  a  little  lad,  all  the  broken 
door  latches  and  balky  clocks  of  the  household 
had  been  turned  over  to  me;  while  I  don't  suppose 
there  is  one  boys'  plaything  from  a  windmill  to  a 
sled  that  I  had  not  made. 

Why  not,  then,  become  an  all-round  machinist, 
and  set  up  a  little  shop  either  in  my  own  home  vil- 
lage or  in  one  near  by?  The  region  had  begun  to 
attract  summer  people,  and  these  were  bringing 
their  automobiles.      The  farmers  were  buying  every 


158 


A  Vocational  Reader 


Copyright  Enrique  Muller,  New  York 


The  interest  of  these  men  in  machinery  is  being  put  to  good  use  in 
service  for  the  country 

year  more  and  more  farm  machinery.  There  would 
always  be  bicycles  and  wagons.  Thus,  with  the 
help  of  my  elders  and  a  teacher  who  took  an  interest 
in  me,  I  planned  out  my  life. 

But,  unfortunately,  setting  up  shop  demands 
capital.  Save  as  I  might,  I  should  be  twenty-five 
before  I  got  my  start. 

Finally,  after  much  taking  counsel,  I  hit  upon 
this  plan.  I  would  enter  the  United  States  Navy  as 
young  as  they  would  take  me,  and  save  my  pay. 
The  navy,  if  I  wished,  would  teach  me  a  trade — 
there  should  be  no  question  which.  In  a  great 
floating  machine  shop,  which  a  modern  warship  is, 
I  would  go  about  and  see  the  world.  At  twenty- 
one  I  should  be  free  to  go  ashore. 

All  fell  out  as  I  planned.  I  enlisted  at  fifteen, 
spent  six  months  at  the  Newport  training  school  for 
apprentices,  and  then  was  promoted  to  a  training 


The  Story  of  the  Heavy-Gun  Pointer  159 

ship.  Before  I  was  seventeen  I  had  become  a 
full-fledged  deep-sea  sailor  man  and  was  serving 
on  one  of  the  finest  armored  cruisers  which  my 
"Uncle  Samuel"  owns. 

What  an  experience  it  was  for  a  country  lad  who 
had  never  so  much  as  seen  the  ocean!  There  is 
not  a  large  port  in  Europe  that  I  have  not  visited, 
there  is  not  a  continent  on  earth  that  I  have  not 
seen.  Of  all  ways  of  learning  geography,  none 
compares    with  ^this ! 

Pay  in  the  navy  is  low — but  there  are  almost  no 
expenses.  Even  these  I  cut  down  still  farther  by 
making  my  own  clothes,  besides  earning  many  an 
odd  dollar  doing  sewing  for  those  of  my  mates  whose 
fingers  were  all  thumbs.  Every  time  I  came  home 
from  a  voyage  I  added  another  deposit  to  the 
tidy  little  sum  that  I  was  salting  down  toward  the 
new  shop. 

My  special  interest,  as  I  have  said,  was  in  machin- 
ery. And  of  all  the  machines  on  the  great  floating 
shop  none  seemed  so  interesting  to  me  as  the  guns. 
I  soon  became  a  devoted  student  and  lover  of  the 
huge  steel  tubes.  None  on  the  ship  cleaned  and 
polished  his  charge  more  faithfully,  none  was  more 
alert  at  drill. 

In  the  navy  everybody  on  board  ship,  no  matter 
what  his  other  duties,  has  to  learn  to  handle  the 
guns.  Cooks,  electricians,  firemen — no  matter 
what  else  they  do — are  taught  to  use  the  fighting 
tools  for  whose  sake  the  ship  exists. 

On   the   trying-out   for   marksmanship,    I    stood 


i6o 


A   Vocational  Reader 


Copyright  Enrique  MuIIer,  New  York 

Deck  view  of  the   U.S.  Battleship  ''Minnesota."     Boys  who 

delight  in  plugging  a  tomato  can  across  the  yard 

would  find  real  sport  in  aiming  and  firing 

a  rifle  like  one  of  these 

well  to  the  front.  I  had  always  been  fond  of  hunt- 
ing, and  I  had  the  nerves  of  an  eight-day  clock.  My 
shots  with  the  smaller  guns  hit.  I  was  promoted 
to  larger  and  larger  bores,  while  with  each  promo- 
tion my  enthusiasm  grew.  I  became  an  expert 
"heavy-gun  pointer." 

Sport ?  It's  not  bad  fun  plugging  a  ' ' twenty-two ' ' 
at  a  tomato  can  on  a  fence  post  across  the  yard.  I 
have  done  it  by  the  half  hour.  I  have  also  fired  at 
an  armored  target  with  an  eight-inch  rifle  and  a 
two-hundred-pound  steel- jacketed  shot  that  could 
have  plowed  its  way  the  whole  length  of  a  brick 


The  Freight  Train  i6i 

block  and  knocked  down  a  lamp-post  on  the  other 
side.     That  was  gunnery! 

For  all  that,  I  wish  most  heartily  that  I  had  never 
put  eye  to  gun  sight.  I  started  out  with  a  thor- 
oughly sound  plan  for  my  life  work — and  I  failed 
to  carry  it  through.  I  started  out  to  learn  the 
machinist's  trade — and  I  ended  by  becoming  a 
gunner.  Now,  having  passed  twenty-one,  I  am 
back  on  shore.  I  have  started  my  little  shop,  but 
I  have  only  hal^  learned  the  trade  to  practice  in  it. 
I  don't  want  to  follow  the  sea  all  my  days;  nobody 
on  shore  wants  to  hire  me  to  drop  eight-inch  shells 
through  roofs  of  the  neighboring  towns.  Doubt- 
less, if  there  should  be  a  war  before  I  get  too  old, 
my  training  as  a  big-gun  pointer  might  possibly 
be  useful  to  my  country;  but  for  the  present  it  is 
certainly  no  use  to  me.  In  itself  it  is  good,  but  it 
does  not  fit  in  with  the  rest  of  my  life  plan. 


THE   FREIGHT   TRAIN 

CY    WARMAN 

How  I  love  to  watch  the  local  winding  up  around 

the  hill. 
In  the  sunrise  of  the  morning,   when  the  autumn 

air  is  still 
And  the  smoke,  like  loosened  tresses,  floats  away 

above  her  back. 
And  to  listen  to  the  measured  Choo-ka,  Choo-ka, 

of  the  stack. 
11 


1 62  A  Vocational  Reader 

The  man  who  rides  these  mountains,  whose  fiery 
steed  of  steel 

Drinks  of  Nature's  flowing  fountains,  must  in- 
evitably feel 

A  divine  and  peerless  painter  spread  the  scenes 
along  the  track 

As  he  listens  to  the  Choo-ka,  Choo-ka,  Choo-ka, 
of  the  stack. 

In  the  peaceful  hush  of  midnight,  when  his  pilot 

plows  the  gloom, 
From  a  hundred  hills  wild  roses  send  their  subtle, 

sweet  perfume 
To  the  wary,  weary  watcher,  whose  lamps  light  up 

the  track. 
And  a  hundred  hills  give  back  the  Choo-ka,  Choo-ka, 

of  the  stack. 

Ah,  how  I  miss  the  music  of  the  whistle  and  the  bell. 
And  the  breathing  of  the  air-pump,  more  than  any 

tongue  can  tell; 
And  the  mighty,  massive   Mogul   seems  to  try  to 

call  me  back, 
With   her   Choo-ka,    Choo-ka,    Choo-ka,    Choo-ka, 

Choo-ka  of  the  stack. 

WHEN   YOUNG  WITS   CLASHED 

FREDERICK    M.    HOLMES 

"Can't  you  get  along  faster,  Gus?"  asked  the 
big  man  in  the  back  of  the  car,  nervously  closing 
his  watch  with  a  loud  snap. 


When  Young  Wits  Clashed  163 

"I  'm  running  as  fast  as  I  dare,   Mr.   Mason." 

"But  we  're  only  doing  eighteen  miles;  we  did 
thirty  before  we  left  the  main  road  for  this  short 
cut  of  yours." 

"The  car  isn't  running  so  well  now,"  replied 
the  chauffeur,  with  a  sly  grimace.  "I  don't  dare 
to  force  it  until  we  strike  the  turnpike." 

"How  ikv  ahead  is  that?" 

"Some  distance — ten  miles,  perhaps."  Again 
the  concealed  grimace.  Evidently  the  anxiety  of 
his  employer  did  not  trouble  the  chauffeur. 

"That  stockholders'  meeting  in  Penfield  is  at 
two,"  reminded  Mason,  anxiously,  "and  I  'm 
morally  sure  that  if  I  am  not  there  I  shall  lose  con- 
trol of  the  company  I  've  spent  my  life  in  building 
up.  I  'm  sorry  now  I  tried  to  make  the  eighty 
miles  across  country  in  the  car  instead  of  taking 
the  train.  There  's  a  group  of  men  who  are  trying 
to  get  the  control  away  from  — "  He  broke  off  in 
dismay,  for  there  were  several  sharp  reports  and  the 
car  stopped. 

In  an  instant  the  chauffeur  was  on  the  ground 
and,  throwing  open  the  hood,  he  began  working 
swiftly  around  the  engine. 

"Sit  right  there,  Mr.  Mason,"  he  exclaimed. 
"I  '11  have  it  all  right  in  five  minutes  and  shall  be 
able  to  put  on  the  fast  speed;  but  I  shall  have  to 
run  to  this  house  ahead  and  get  some  water." 

Taking  a  small  pail,  he  started  for  the  house  and 
in  two  minutes  had  passed  out  of  sight. 

Mason  waited  impatiently.     "Must  have  had  a 


164  ^  Vocational  Reader 

lot  of  trouble  getting  that  water,"  he  muttered, 
finally.  He  waited  longer;  then  he  took  out  the 
watch  again  and  gave  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  It 
was  ten  minutes  since  the  chauffeur  had  disappeared. 

Down  the  road  near  the  house  a  boy  of  about 
sixteen  appeared,  looked  up,  saw  the  car,  and 
stopped.     Mason  called  and  he  approached. 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  the  man. 

"George  Howard." 

"Mine's  Mason,"  volunteered  his  questioner. 
"Have  you  seen  anything  of  a  young  man  going 
to  that  house  after  water?" 

"I  saw  a  young  man  go  by,  but  he  didn't  stop 
or  say  anything  about  getting  any  water." 

"What!"  cried  Mason,   "he  didn't  stop?" 

"No,  sir,  he  left  a  pail  near  the  house  and  went 
on  to  the  corner  just  below  here  and  got  into  an 
automobile  that  stood  at  the  crossroads,  and  it 
started  away  at  once." 

"It's  a  plot!"  burst  out  Mason;  "it's  a  plot  to 
get  me  out  of  the  way  at  that  meeting !  That 's  why 
the  trouble  did  n't  begin  until  we  left  the  main  road. 
Well,  I'll  fool  them;  I  can  drive  the  car  myself." 

Stepping  out  quickly,  Mr.  Mason  replaced  the 
hood  and  went  to  start  the  engine.  He  tried 
several  times  before  the  truth  broke  on  him.  For 
an  instant  he  turned  pale  and  leaned  heavily  against 
the  car.  "The  miserable  scoundrel,"  he  groaned; 
"  he  's  put  the  engine  out  of  business.  Do  you  know 
anything  about  an  automobile,  son?" 

"Not  very  much,"   admitted   George,   "I  never 


When  Young  Wits  Clashed  165 

drove  one,  though  I  've  always  wanted  to;  but 
I  've  helped  around  them  a  good  deal  and  put  in 
new  plugs  and  things  like  that." 

"Then  you  know  more  than  I  do,"  commented 
Mason.  "I  never  thought  I  had  time  to  learn 
anything  beyond  how  to  turn  on  the  gasoline  and 
run  the  thing  over  the  road.  That  's  why  I  got  a 
chauffeur." 

Together  they  uncovered  the  engine  and  began 
a  hasty  examiifktion  to  locate  the  trouble. 

Entirely  unaccustomed  to  the  machine.  Mason 
was  still  dubiously  examining  all  sorts  of  possible 
and  impossible  seats  of  trouble,  when  a  sharp  cry 
from  the  boy  drew  him  from  his  task. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

' '  Look ! ' '  cried  George. 

The  man's  eyes  followed  the  direction  of  the  boy's 
finger,  but  even  then  he  saw  nothing  and  was  forced 
to  ask  what  it  was. 

"Look  at  these  springs,"  said  George,  touching 
them  as  he  spoke;  and  Mason  saw  that  each  one 
of  them  had  been  very  neatly  cut. 

"What  are  they?"  he  inquired  helplessly. 

"They  are  the  inlet  valve  springs,"  answered 
the  boy ;  ' '  they  allow  the  gas  to  enter  the  cylinders 
at  the  right  time." 

"Then  they  are  extras,"  remarked  Mason, 
brightening  up;  "and  we  must  have  lots  of  them, 
for  Gus  was  always  bringing  me  in  big  bills  for  all 
sorts  of  extras.     Just  hand  them  out." 

George    opened    up    the    tools    and    extras    and 


i66  A  Vocational  Reader 

Mason  made  a  hasty  clutch  as  a  number  of  coiled 
springs  met  his  eye.  "We  '11  fool  them  yet,"  he 
said,  "if  we  can  only  get  these  things  on." 

"I  know  how  to  put  them  on,"  asserted  the  boy. 

"Then  get  busy  and  I  '11  make  it  well  worth 
your  while." 

Working  rapidly,  the  boy  removed  the  old  cut 
springs  and  made  ready  to  put  on  the  new  ones. 
Mason  handed  him  one. 

"Not  that,"  said  George,   "one  of  the  others." 

"Well,  I  don't  care  which  you  use;  only  get 
them  on  and  let  me  get  away." 

"I  can't  use  this,  either;  they  are  both  alike. 
You  see  they  are  too  heavy,"  George  explained, 
"they  are  exhaust  valve  springs;  the  inlet  valve 
springs  are  light." 

Mason  began  rummaging  again  for  the  other 
springs,  and  George,  joining  him,  realized  the  situa- 
tion before  the  man  sprang  to  his  feet  and  shook  his 
clinched  fist  in  the  direction  in  which  the  missing 
chauffeur  had  disappeared.  "Oh,  you  're  a  cunning 
rogue!"  he  cried;  "there  is  n't  an  inlet  valve  spring 
left!"  Then  he  turned  in  desperation.  "Put  on 
the  other  springs,"  he  ordered. 

George  shook  his  head.  "It  's  no  use,"  he  replied 
earnestly,  "it  really  isn't;  they  are  so  heavy  they 
won't  work." 

"But  what  am  I  going  to  do?"  asked  the  man, 
more  of  himself  than  of  his  young  companion.  "I 
can  see  the  whole  plot  now,  but  what  good  is  that? 
If  I  cannot  reach  that  meeting  they  will  do  just 


When  Young  Wits  Clashed  167 

what  they  wish  to;  and  the  control  of  the  business 
to  which  I  have  given  my  whole  lifetime  will  be 
swept  away  by  a  contemptible  trick.  Have  your 
folks  a  car?" 

"No,  sir,  there  isn't  one  within  several  miles." 

"Then  there  is  one  within  a  few  miles?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Big  motor?" 

"No,  sir,  about  thirty  horse-power." 

' '  Got  a  teleplione  at  your  house  ? " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Come  on!"  cried  Mason,  "we  've  a  chance  yet." 

They  rushed  to  the  house,  and  the  boy  quickly 
explained  the  situation  to  his  mother. 

Mason  passed  hurriedly  in,  but  George  remained 
outside,  thinking.  In  a  minute  he  went  to  a  wood- 
shed near  the  door,  where  he  had  a  corner  devoted 
to  the  construction  of  various  mechanical  devices 
so  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  average  healthy  boy. 

He  was  here  when,  a  few  minutes  later,  Mr.  Mason 
came  out  again,  his  face  looking  older  and  more 
drawn  than  when  he  went  in  so  short  a  time  before. 
The  man  tried  to  smile  as  he  saw  George,  but  failed. 

"I  want  to  thank  you,  my  boy,"  he  said  slowly, 
"for  the  efforts  you  have  made  to  help  me;  and  I 
shall  never  forget  them,  I  assure  you.  I  can't  say 
very  much  just  now;  a  man  does  n't  feel  like  talking 
when  he  is  losing  the  fruits  of  a  lifetime's  work." 

"What's  the  matter?"  inquired  the  boy,  sym- 
pathetically, "can't  you  get  the  car?" 

"The  matter  is,"  answered  Mason,  "that  I  did  n't 


i68  A   Vocational  Reader 

realize  until  it  was  too  late  the  almost  matchless 
cunning  of  that  young  man  whom  I  trusted  and 
benefited.     He  has  not  overlooked  a  single  point." 

"He  has  prevented  your  getting  that  car?" 

"Worse  than  that;  he  has  prevented  my  getting 
any  car — or  any  assistance  in  time.  I  am  prac- 
tically tied  hand  and  foot — helpless.  He  has  cut 
the  telephone  line!" 

George  started  and  a  light  came  in  his  eyes. 

"I  suppose  I  might  as  well  try  and  get  some  one 
to  pull  that  car  to  the  nearest  garage,"  continued 
the  man,  gloomily. 

"Wait  just  a  minute,  Mr.  Mason,"  urged  George, 
"I  think  I  can  get  some  one  to  attend  to  it  for  you." 

Mason  came  and  stood  at  the  door  while  George 
busied  himself  in  his  own  particular  corner. 

"What  would  a  good  big  automobile  be  worth  to 
you  just  now?"  asked  the  boy,  as  he  worked  away. 

There  was  no  interest  in  the  man's  eyes  as  he 
replied,  "Almost  any  price,  George." 

"I  wish  I  could  help  you  out." 

"I  wish  you  could;  but  that  rogue  was  too 
clever — he  did  not  overlook  a  single  point." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Mason,"  said  George,  gathering  up 
the  little  objects  upon  which  he  had  been  working, 
"he  did  overlook  one  point;  but  he  could  not  have 
been  expected  to  know  that." 

"What  was  it?" 

"Why,"  answered  the  boy,  "he  did  not  know 
that  I  had  spring  wire  and  could  make  a  set  of  inlet 
valve  springs." 


When  Young  Wits  Clashed  169 

"What!"  gasped  Mason. 

"Oh,  yes,"  confirmed  George,  "making  springs 
is  easy;  I  've  made  lots  for  different  things,  and  I 
had  these  old  ones  for  patterns.  I  can't  see  how 
I  came  to  forget  about  it  so  long.  Let 's  put 
'em  on." 

Mason  needed  no  urging,  and  they  were  soon 
properly  placed  and  the  hood  shut  down.  To  the 
man's  delight  the  engine  started  promptly  and  he 
sprang  into  the  car.  ' '  Good-by ! "  he  cried,  ' '  I  won't 
forget  you." 

Then  he  stopped.  "Come  here;  get  in,"  he  said, 
"you  '11  have  to  help  me  out  again,  after  all." 

"What  is  the  matter  now?"  asked  George. 

"I  don't  know  this  part  of  the  country," 
explained  Mason. 

"Well,  I  '11  show  you  where  to  go,"  laughed 
George. 

"Gee!"  he  cried,  a  short  time  later,  as  he  watched 
the  speedometer,  "the  pointer  is  just  passing  the 
forty-mile  mark." 

"Just  you  wait  until  we  strike  the  turnpike,  son," 
commented  Mason,  "and  you'll  see  it  pass  the 
fifty  mark." 

Just  before  two,  as  they  were  tearing  into  Pen- 
field,  they  swept  by  another  car  in  which  were 
several  persons.  Following  Mason's  glance,  George 
saw  the  white  face  of  the  former  chauffeur  among 
them.  He  looked  behind  and  in  a  minute  exclaimed, 
"That  automobile  we  just  passed  has  stopped  and 
turned,  and  is  going  back." 


I -JO  A  Vocational  Reader 

Mason  smiled  grimly.  "I  don't  think  they  are 
as  anxious  to  get  to  that  meeting  as  they  were,"  he 
remarked;  "and,  as  they  have  taken  my  chauffeur, 
I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  get  another.  How  would 
you  like  the  job,  George?" 

George's  eyes  glistened.  "Fine,"  he  replied, 
"but  I  don't  know  enough  about  it  yet." 

"You  can  learn  if  you  have  a  chance,"  said  Mr. 
Mason,  decisively,  "and  I  '11  see  that  you  get  the 
chance." 

And  this  remark  explains  why  George  is  now 
driving  the  big  car.  — From  The  Beacon 


LINES    ON    THE    DEATH    OF    A    WORTHY 

SHOEMAKER 

ED    MOTT 

My  friend  the  aged  Crispin 's  dead. 

Drawn  to  its  utmost  tax 
His  thread  of  life  asunder  snapped 

For  lack  of  vital  wax. 

A  man  was  he  of  gentle  parts. 

Beloved  of  young  and  old. 
Though  true  he  ne'er  sold  half  his  goods. 

Yet  they  were  oft  half  soled. 

Though  paradoxical  it  seems. 

And  of  a  doubtful  cast. 
Yet  when  unto  his  toil  he  went 

His  first  thought  was  his  last. 


The  Value  of  Home  Training  171 

"All  work,  no  play,  makes  one  but  dull," 

Words  of  the  proverb  say, 
Thus  he  was  never  dull  because 

Awl  work  to  him  was  play. 

Boots  though  his  task,  bootless  it  was 

To  gather  worldly  pelf, 
So  though  he  others  kept  well  heeled 

He  ne'er  was  so  himself. 

•»■ 

P^ace  be  his  rest!     And  when  around 

The  day  of  judgment  rolls. 
As  free  from  flaws  may  be  his  soul 

As  ever  were  his  soles ! 

— New  York  Sun 

THE   VALUE   OF   HOME   TRAINING 

At  the  age  of  six  or  seven  years,  like  all  healthy 
boys,  I  asked  father  for  toys.  On  one  occasion  I 
said,  "I  want  a  top."  He  said,  "Make  it.  Mother 
will  give  you  a  spool  and  here  is  my  pocket-knife. 
Go  ahead."  I  whittled  for  a  few  minutes  and  found 
the  cutting  difficult.  I  returned  the  knife  to  father, 
and  he  asked,  "Where  is  the  top?"  I  said,  "I  do 
not  want  a  top."  He  replied,  "You  do  want  a  top. 
Make  it  or  I  shall  be  obliged  to  punish  you."  I  was 
so  well  acquainted  with  my  father  that  I  made  the 
top.  When  I  returned  his  knife  he  commended  me 
by  spinning  it  and  remarking,  "That  is  a  fine  top." 
My  father  built  better  than  he  knew.  He  put  lime 
in  my  spine  by  insisting  that  I  make  my  own  carts, 


172  A  Vocational  Reader 

wagons,  sleds,  kites,  boats,  windmills,  etc.,  and 
that  I  finish  every  task  I  voluntarily  began. 

When  I  was  older  I,  like  most  boys,  preferred 
fishing,  hunting,  swimming,  playing  ball,  to  work. 
My  father  needed  my  help;  consequently  I  worked — 
not  because  I  wanted  to  work,  but  because  I  had 
to.  He  trained  me  in  obedience.  When  he  said, 
"Come,"  I  came;  when  he  said,  "Go,"  I  went; 
when  he  said,  "Work,"  I  worked;  when  he  said, 
"You  can  play,"  I  played. 

My  father  never  gave  me  a  nickel  in  his  life.  He 
gave  me  an  opportunity  to  earn  nickels.  I  took 
delight  in  earning  my  own  pin-money.  Because  of 
this  training  I  never  saw  a  day  in  my  life  when  I 
could  not  get  some  kind  of  useful  work  to  do.  This 
home  training  in  practical  thrift  has  proved  to  be  a 
rich  legacy  to  me. 

On  the  one  hundred-acre  hill  farm  in  southern 

New  York  I  was  trained  for  the  struggles  of  life. 

Through  the  untiring  efforts  of  mother  and  father 

I   learned   the   fine  arts   of  industry,   self-sacrifice, 

self-reliance,  honesty,  sobriety,  economy,  and  abiding 

loyalty  to  my  parents  and   my   sisters.     There   is 

no  short  cut  in  the  art  of  making  men  and  women 

out  of  our  boys   and   girls.     The   fundamentals  I 

have  enumerated  are  absolutely  necessary  in  giving 

boys  real  joy.     My  home  training  has  been  the  key 

to  my  success.     Father  and  mother  were  my  great 

teachers. 

—  Governor  W.  N.  Ferris  of  Michigan, 
in  Association  Men 


HOME-MAKING 


SALLY  PATTON'S   QUIET   DAY 

FRANCES    MARGARET    FOX 

It  was  not  unusual  for  Sally  Patton,  a  farmer's 
daughter,  to  get  up  early  in  the  morning.  But 
when,  without  waiting  for  the  August  sun  to  rise, 
she  was  out  sweeping  the  porch,  it  meant  that  Sally 
had  something  out  of  the  ordinary  to  do  that  day. 

"What's  in  the  wind,  Sally?"  Tom,  on  his  way 
to  milk  the  cows,  found  his  sister  shaking  rugs  in 
the  back  yard.  "I  thought  you  were  going  to  stay 
at  home  to-day." 

"I  am,  but  I  want  to  get  the  housework  done  and 
have  everything  in  apple-pie  order  by  nine  o'clock, 
so  that  I  can  sew.  It 's  a  great  chance  to  make  my 
white  batiste  to  wear  to  Mrs.  Shipman's  rag-carpet 
bee  next  Wednesday.  You  see,  with  you  men 
folks  all  over  at  Uncle  Peter's,  helping  him  thresh, 
I  shall  have  a  quiet  day.  Mother  is  going  to  help 
me,  too." 

"Pshaw,  now,  Sally,  don't  keep  mother  at  home, 
when  she  might  just  as  well  spend  the  day  with 
Aunt—" 

"Oh,  go  along,  you  goose!  She  is  to  sew  lace  on 
ruffles,  and  offered  to  take  them  to  Aunt  Becky's 
for  pick-up  work." 

By  seven  o'clock  Sally's  father,  mother,  and  two 
brothers  were  ready  to  start. 

"Don't  plow   the   clover  lot   down   beyond   the 

175 


176  A   Vocational  Reader 

barn,"  was  Tom's  parting  pleasantry.  "I'd  hate  to 
come  home  and  find  that  field  ready  for  winter 
wheat!" 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  said  Sally,  laughing,  "I'll 
make  my  new  dress  first." 

"Don't  be  lonesome!"  her  mother  called  from  the 
driveway.  Sally  replied  J:hat  she  would  not  have 
time.  In  a  way  that  was  unexpected,  this  remark 
proved  true. 

Alone  in  the  house,  Sally  hastily  cleared  the  break- 
fast table  and  began  washing  dishes.  All  at  once 
the  stillness  of  the  farmyard  was  broken  by  the 
sound  of  energetic  grunting.  The  sound  came  from 
just  outside  the  kitchen  door. 

"Oomph!  oomph!  oomph!" 

' '  Oh,  you  old  black  pig ! ' '  exclaimed  Sally.  ' '  How 
did  you  ever  get  out  of  the  field  ? ' ' 

"Oomph!  oomph!  oomph!"  Sally  rushed  out  in 
the  direction  of  the  "oomphs." 

"You  horrid  old  thing!  Come,  piggy,  pig,  pig; 
come,  piggy,  pig,  pig;  nice  old  pig!" 

The  pig  would  not  come,  however.  It  dug  its 
sharp  hoofs  in  the  earth  and  capered  round  the 
yard.  It  had  been  at  large  in  a  field  for  several 
days,  and  may  have  been  trying  to  imitate  the  colts 
that  had  been  its  companions. 

In  vain  Sally  looked  for  the  pig's  place  of  escape. 
At  last  she  concluded  that  it  must  have  crawled 
under  the  fence  near  the  Baldwin  apple  tree  in  the 
back  yard.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  go  down 
the  road,  open  the  gate,  and  get  the  pig  back  into 


Sally  Pattons  Quiet  Day  177 

the  field.  The  pig  objected  to  being  chased;  it 
ducked,  it  dodged,  it  pawed  the  earth,  it  ran,  squeal- 
ing, in  every  direction,  but  it  always  avoided  the 
gate. 

If  the  colts  had  not  scented  freedom  when  the 
gate  was  opened,  Sally's  task  would  have  been  easier. 
Whenever  she  had  the  pig  in  front  of  the  gate,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  he  must  go  in,  the  colts  tried  to  come 
out.  Each  time  she  was  compelled  to  drive  them 
away,  and  thus  Jost  her  opportunity.  After  wasting 
half  an  hour,  Sally  mopped  her  face  and  gave  up 
trying  to  drive  the  pig. 

Then  Sally  resorted  to  strategy.  "I'll  coax  you 
with  the  sour  milk  we  were  saving  for  Dutch  cheese ! ' ' 
she  exclaimed. 

Squealing  at  every  step,  the  pig  followed  Sally 
and  a  pail  of  sour  milk  to  the  gate;  but  although 
the  girl  let  the  pig  stick  its  ungrateful  snout  into  the 
pail,  the  animal  would  not  go  one  inch  beyond  the 
grassy  threshold. 

"Oomph!  oomph!  oomph!"  it  lifted  its  head  to 
remark.  Doubtless  it  had  been  too  well  fed  that 
morning  to  be  tempted  by  sour  milk. 

Finally  she  tried  apples,  cut  in  quarters. 

"It  is  such  joy,"  she  said,  "to  cut  up  apples  this 
morning  for  an  undeserving  animal  like  you  1  Come, 
piggy,  pig,  pig;  nice  old  piggy,  pig,  pig!" 

The  apples  accomplished  what  the  milk  had  failed 

to   do.     In   an   unpleasant   frame   of   mind,    Sally 

returned  at  last  to  her  cold  dishwater.     She  heated 

fresh   water,    and   had   nearly   finished   the   dishes, 

12 


178  A   Vocational  Reader 

when  she  heard  the  sound  of  vigorous  protest  from 
the  hens.  The  girl  rushed  out,  and  saw  a  hawk 
circling  in  the  air. 

"That's  all  right,  old  ladies,"  Sally  assured  the 
perturbed  fowls.  "I  haven't  anything  to  do  this 
morning  but  watch  and  protect  your  children. 
A  nurse  girl  at  your  service,  madam!"  The  last 
remark  she  addressed  to  a  particularly  flustered 
white  mother  hen. 

When  the  danger  from  the  hawk  was  past,  Sally 
returned  to  the  house.  ' '  Nine  o'clock  this  minute ! ' ' 
she  exclaimed,  as  she  went  by  the  clock  in  the  dining 
room.  "This  room  and  the  kitchen  yet  to  sweep, 
the  kitchen  floor  to  scrub  and  the  beds  to  make!" 

Half  an  hour  later  all  the  housework  except  the 
scrubbing  was  done.  Then  an  animal  known  by 
the  children  who  attended  the  district  school  as 
"Patton's  hooking  cow"  came  near  hanging  herself 
by  the  rope  with  which  she  was  tied  to  a  maple  tree. 
Sally  heard  a  muffled  bellowing,  and  ran  to  the 
rescue  of  the  creature. 

This  task  was  harder  than  capturing  the  obstinate 
black  pig  had  been,  but  at  last  she  got  the  rope 
untangled.  Having  saved  the  cow,  Sally  returned, 
exhausted,  to  the  house. 

"You'll  have  to  wait,"  she  remarked  to  the 
kitchen  floor.  She  put  more  wood  in  the  stove 
to  keep  the  water  hot,  and  then  threw  herself  upon 
the  couch  in  the  sitting  room,  and  fell  asleep. 

She  was  awakened  by  the  wailing  of  a  baby. 
Sitting    bolt    upright    at    the    sound,    Sally    asked 


Sally  Pattons  Quiet  Day  179 

herself  if  she  were  dreaming.  No,  there  was  the 
cry  again.  Across  the  road,  in  the  shade  of  a  clump 
of  maples,  was  the  baby,  lying  on  a  blanket.  On 
their  knees  beside  it  were  two  young  women.  A  man 
with  his  hands  thrust  helplessly  into  his  pockets  stood 
near.  Close  by  was  a  light  wagon,  and  two  horses 
were  hitched  to  the  fence.  Sally  quickly  guessed 
that  the  baby  must  be  ill,  and  ran  to  offer  help. 

"Yes,"  said  the  mother,  "baby  certainly  is  sick, 
but  we  don't  know  what  is  the  matter.  We  are 
the  Petersons  from  over  north — this  is  Mr.  Fred 
Peterson,  my  husband,  and  this  is  Miss  Peterson, 
his  sister.  We  left  home  day  before  yesterday, 
to  go  to  my  mother's  at  Rawson  Corners.  We 
thought  we  were  going  to  have  such  a  delightful 
camping  trip,  but  baby  did  n't  seem  right  yesterday, 
and  now  he  seems  worse.  Last  night  we  camped 
only  a  mile  below  here,  and  we  were  trying  this 
morning  to  get  to  your  schoolhouse  woods  for  the 
rest  of  the  day  before  the  sun  should  get  hot,  but 
we  did  n't  dare  go  on  with  baby.  This  is  the  fourth 
time  we  have  stopped  and  tied  the  horses." 

While  she  was  talking,  the  mother  held  her  ten 
months'  old  baby.     It  cried  continuously. 

Sally  knew  little  about  babies,  but  she  ventured 
a  suggestion.  "I  believe,"  she  said,  "that  that 
baby  is  going  to  have  spasms!" 

"O  mercy!"  exclaimed  the  mother. 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no!"  the  aunt  protested. 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  baby  have  spasms?"  in- 
quired Sally. 


i8o  A  Vocational  Reader 

"No,  but  I  had  spasms  myself  once,  and  I  remem- 
ber what  my  mother  says  they  did  with  me.  They 
put  me  in  hot  water.     O  Miss  — " 

"Patton,  Sally  Patton." 

"Miss  Patton,  have  you  any  hot  water?" 

"Yes,  a  tubful  of  clean  hot  water.  Come  right 
up  to  the  kitchen." 

The  baby  was  undressed  and  put  into  the  tub  of 
warm  water.  Soon  he  stopped  crying  and  began  to 
smile  and  coo. 

"Well,  if  it's  spasms,  he's  cured  already,"  said 
Sally.     ' '  The  little  darling ! ' ' 

Tears  began  rolling  down  the  mother's  cheeks. 
"He  surely  seems  all  right.  I  believe  the  little 
fellow  is  tired  out  by  the  sun  and  by  the  change  in 
his  habits.  I  'm  afraid  he  is  too  young  to  go  camp- 
ing. We  '11  dress  him  and  get  to  the  woods  as  fast 
as  we  can." 

"Indeed,"  objected  Sally,  "you'll  do  no  such 
thing.  You  take  that  baby  into  the  cool  parlor 
bedroom  and  have  a  nap.  I  know  how  hot  the  sun 
is  to-day.  You  can't  stir  out  until  it  is  cooler.  Mr. 
Peterson  can  put  his  horses  in  the  barn,  and  by  the 
time  you  are  all  rested  I'll  have  dinner  ready." 

It  was  a  good  dinner  that  the  only  daughter  of 
Isaac  Patton  served  to  her  unexpected  guests  that 
day.  And  it  was  a  merry  party  that  gathered  round 
the  table. 

The  baby  awoke  in  time  to  amuse  hostess  and 
guests  for  an  hour  following  dessert.  They  sat  on 
the  floor  with  him  in  the  cool  parlor,  forgetful  of 


The  Housewife  Who  Built  a  Telescope  i8i 

everything  but  his  infant  perfections,  until  Mrs. 
Peterson  remarked  that  perhaps  Sally  had  plans 
for  the  afternoon. 

"We'll  get  the  dishes  out  of  the  way,"  Mrs. 
Peterson  continued,  "and  then  we  will  gladly  help 
you  with  anything  you  wish.  Were  n't  you  intend- 
ing to  can  fruit,  or  make  jelly,  or — " 

"Or  plow  my  brother's  clover  lot  by  the  barn?" 
asked  Sally,  laughing.  "No,  I  thank  you.  I  am 
enjoying  every  minute  of  this  visit,  and  I  only  wish 
my  family  were  home  to  share  the  pleasure." 

"Well,  I  must  go  and  see  about  the  horses," 
declared  Mr.  Peterson,  "and  I  may  stretch  out  and 
take  a  nap  under  the  trees." 

At  five  o'clock  the  Petersons  resumed  their  jour- 
ney. When  they  had  gone,  Sally  discovered  how 
Mr.  Peterson  had  looked  after  his  horses  and  taken  a 
nap.  Those  horses,  with  their  owner's  assistance, 
had  plowed  Tom's  small  clover  field. 

"That's  what  I  call  a  joke  on  me!"  murmured 
Sally  Patton.  "Tom's  work  done  and  my  batiste 
untouched!     A  pretty  good  joke  on  me!" 

— From  The  Youth's  Companion 

THE   HOUSEWIFE   WHO   BUILT   A 
TELESCOPE 

EDWIN   T.    BREWSTER 

In  western  Pennsylvania,  thirty  miles  or  so 
south  of  Pittsburgh,  is  the  Httle  town  of  Browns- 
ville.    Here,   shortly  after   1840,  was  born  Phoebe 


Courtesy  of  John  A.  Braahear 


Phcebe   Brashear 

The  housewife  whose  energy  and  perseverance  inspired  and  encouraged 

her  husband  to  build  his  first  telescope  and  then  to  become 

eminent  as  a  maker  of  astronomical  instruments 


The  Housewife  Who  Built  a  Telescope  183 

Stewart,  and  here  she   grew  up,  a  simple  country- 
girl,  hard-working,  frugal,  and  poor. 

By  the  time  she  was  twenty  Phoebe  Stewart  had 
married  a  lad  of  the  village  as  poor  and  as  frugal  as 
herself,  and  as  Mrs.  John  Brashear  had  gone  with 
her  husband  to  Pittsburgh  in  search  of  fortune. 
Fortune  took  the  form  of  a  job  in  a  rolling  mill, 
where  the  husband  was  expected  to  work  at  least  ten 
hours  a  day,  and  then  to  keep  on  as  long  as  there 
was  anything  left  to  be  done,  for  Brashear  was  a 
millwright,  who  had  to  keep  tools  in  order  for  the 
work  of  other  people. 

The  Brashears  were  ambitious.  They  wanted 
a  home  of  their  own;  and  being  too  poor  to  buy  a 
house,  they  went  to  work  and  built  one  with  their 
own  hands.  Not  satisfied  with  that,  they  added 
a  little  machine  shop,  with  a  tiny  steam  engine,  in 
order  that  when  John  Brashear  had  finished  his  ten 
hours  of  work  over  other  people's  lathes  and  pulleys, 
he  might  play  evenings  with  his  own. 

Neither  husband  nor  wife  had  had  much  education, 
so  when  they  were  too  tired  to  work  they  studied. 
The  husband  took  his  books  to  the  mill  and  read  at 
odd  moments.  The  wife  kept  up  with  him  in  her 
spare  time  at  home.     Evenings,  they  read  together. 

Their  special  interest  was  astronomy,  for  John 
Brashear,  when  he  was  a  lad  of  eight,  happened  to  get 
a  chance  to  look  through  a  telescope.  After  that,  the 
wonders  of  the  heavens  eclipsed  all  else  in  his  imagi- 
nation, and  all  he  knew  he  forthwith  taught  his  wife. 

But  one  cannot  learn  a  science  from  books  alone. 


184  A  Vocational  Reader 

The  Brashears  wanted  a  telescope.  They  could 
not  hope  to  buy  one;  they  were  far  too  poor.  So 
they  went  to  work  to  make  one  instead. 

Together,  in  their  little  shop,  they  turned  the 
brass  and  ground  the  lenses.  Every  day,  while 
her  husband  was  at  the  rolling  mill,  Phoebe  Brashear 
cleaned  and  oiled  the  little  engine,  set  the  shop 
in  order,  and  made  ready  the  tools  and  materials 
for  the  evening's  work.  Along  with  getting  supper 
she  got  up  steam  in  the  boiler ;  and  when  supper  was 
done  she  worked  at  her  husband's  side,  oftentimes 
till  midnight.  Next  morning  she  was  up  with  the 
five  o'clock  whistle  getting  breakfast;  and  whenever 
she  could  snatch  an  hour  or  two  during  the  day  she 
started  the  machinery  and  went  to  work  by  herself. 
Few  men  were  better  mechanics. 

Lens  grinding  is  very  slow  and  difficult  work. 
The  least  particle  of  grit  on  the  glass  will  ruin  the 
labor  of  months,  so  that  John  Brashear,  when  he 
came  home  from  the  mill,  used  every  day  to  wash 
his  hair  as  well  as  his  hands  and  face  lest  any  grime 
should  fall  on  his  work.  Three  years  it  took  them 
to  make  their  five-inch  glass.  Eight  years  after 
their  marriage,  the  Brashears  set  up  their  first 
telescope  in  the  attic  of  their  cottage,  cut  a  hole 
in  the  roof,  and  invited  their  neighbors  to  come 
in  and  have  a  look  at  the  planet  Saturn. 

Other  housekeepers,  as  they  become  more  pros- 
perous, aspire  to  larger  houses.  Phoebe  Brashear 
wanted  a  larger  telescope.  Five  inches  is  by  no 
means  a  small  glass;  but  she  planned  for  a  twelve. 


The  Housewife  Who  Built  a  Telescope  185 

It  took  only  two  years  to  make  that,  for  the 
Brashears  were  getting  skillful.  But  just  as  the 
glass   was  finished,    it   broke. 

The  husband  was  completely  discouraged.  He 
went  back  to  the  mill,  resolved  to  try  no  more. 
Not  so  the  gallant  wife.  "Never  mind,"  she  said, 
"next  time  we'll  make  a  better  one."  And  the 
very  next  night  when  the  husband  came  home  from 
work,  he  found,  the  best  of  suppers  awaiting  him, 
steam  up  in  the  engine  as  usual,  and  a  fresh  block 
of  glass  in  the  lathe. 

What  can  a  man  not  do  with  such  a  wife!  The 
discouraged  husband  took  heart  again,  and  this  time 
the  work  went  through  to  completion.  The  little 
cottage  attic  held  as  large  a  telescope  as  several 
famous  observatories. 

This  was  the  turning-point  of  the  family  career. 
The  Brashears  were  becoming  known,  both  for  their 
skill  in  grinding  lenses  and  for  the  discoveries 
which  they  made  with  their  telescopes.  By  and  by 
the  Allegheny  Observatory,  which  is  just  across  the 
river  from  Pittsburgh,  began  to  send  them  repair 
work  which  up  to  that  time  had  been  done  in  Paris. 
It  was  not  long  before  the  Brashears  were  putting 
an  instrument  in  order  and  getting  it  back  the 
same  day  in  better  order  than  if  it  had  been  away  a 
month  and  twice  across  the  ocean. 

With  more  experience  came  more  skill,  and  more 
work.  Twenty-one  years  after  John  Brashear 
entered  the  rolling  mill,  he  left  it  to  set  up  a  httle 
shop  for  the  manufacture  and  repair  of  telescope 


1 86  A  Vocational  Reader 

lenses  and  other  optical  instruments.  For  twenty- 
one  years  Phoebe  Brashear  held  her  husband  to 
doing  two  days'  work  in  one,  until  she  set  him  free 
to  do  only  the  work  he  loved. 

The  business  grew.  "The  little  shop  under  the 
hill"  became  one  of  the  famous  optical  factories  of 
the  world.  There  is  not  an  important  observatory 
in  America  or  Europe  that  has  not  at  least  one  of 
its  instruments.  Langley,  who  constructed  the 
first  aeroplane  that  ever  actually  flew,  had  his 
models  made  at  the  Brashear  shop.  Here  were 
ground  the  glasses  for  the  range-finders  which  our 
navy  used  in  the  Spanish  War.  They  were,  at  the 
time,  the  most  accurate  range-finders  in  the  world — 
one  may  guess  how  much  part  they  had  in  two 
memorable  victories.  There  is  only  one  telescope 
anywhere  larger  than  one  recently  made  by  the 
Brashear  Company  for  the  Allegheny  Observatory. 

Phoebe  Brashear  lived  to  see  her  husband  director 
of  a  great  observatory,  a  professor  of  the  University 
of  Pittsburgh,  and  for  a  time  its  acting  head,  trustee 
of  educational  funds  amounting  to  more  than  twenty 
millions.  At  her  table  sat  men  of  science,  the  most 
eminent  of  the  day,  while  visitors  came  to  her  house 
from  almost  every  country  of  the  earth.  She 
believed  in  her  husband's  future  when  he  was  only 
a  millhand,  and  she  helped  him  to  become  the 
foremost  living  maker  of  astronomical  instruments. 
On  her  death,  in  1910,  the  world  acclaimed  her  as 
the  greatest  factor  in  her  husband's  career.  And 
she,  all  the  while,  had  been  keeping  house. 


A  Business  Woman  in  Her  Home  187 

A   BUSINESS   WOMAN    IN    HER   HOME 

EDITH    TENNEY 

The  daughter  of  a  highly  successful  manu- 
facturer married  a  college  professor.  He  was  an 
able  man  and  a  famous  scholar — but  college 
teaching  is  one  of  the  vocations  that  pay  in 
other  things  than  money. 

The  young  wife  was  her  father's  daughter.  Her 
household  ran  like  clockwork.  Her  children  were 
the  envy  of  the  town.  Her  neighbors  looked  to  her 
for  advice  in  every  household  problem.  She  took 
the  lead  in  church  and  social  work.  She  became 
president  of  the  first  woman's  club  in  her  state  to 
own  its  own  clubhouse. 

But  her  father,  and  her  uncles,  and  her  brothers 
were  all  business  men.  Business  was  in  her  blood. 
Instead  of  taking  up  the  latest  fashionable  amuse- 
ment or  looking  about  for  something  to  reform,  she 
studied  her  own  home — and  took  out  a  patent 
for  a  new  doll  for  sick  children  to  play  with  in  bed. 

An  unused  room  in  her  house  became  a  little 
factory,  where  she  kept  two  or  three  women  at  work. 
Her  business  correspondence  soon  demanded  a 
stenographer  and  bookkeeper.  She  gave  out  work 
about  the  town  to  women  in  their  own  homes.  A 
local  factory  expanded  its  business  to  provide  her 
materials. 

When  people  asked  her  why  she,  a  professor's 
wife,  went  into  a  business  venture,  she  said  frankly 
that  she  wanted  the  money.     But  everybody  knew 


1 88  A  Vocational  Reader 

that,  quite  as  much,  it  was  because  she  loved  work. 
As  her  children  have  grown  up  and  her  home 
duties  have  become  lighter,  she  has  let  her  business 
expand — but  never  so  as  to  interfere  in  any  wise 
with  her  duties  to  family  and  home.  She  has 
been  far  happier  than  if  she  had  squandered  her 
leisure  in  amusement.  Her  profits  have  given  her 
children  advantages  which  they  must  otherwise 
have  lost.  She  has  added  to  the  income  of  numer- 
ous other  households.  To  several  other  women  she 
has  brought  self-support.  Sick  children  and  their 
weary  mothers  all  over  this  land  are  blessing  her 
invention. 


THE    MOTHER 

ROBERT    LOUIS    STEVENSON 

It  is  not  yours,  O  mother,  to  complain, 

Not,  mother,  yours  to  weep, 
Though  nevermore  your  son  again 

Shall  to  your  bosom  creep. 

Though  nevermore  again  you  watch  your  baby 
sleep. 

Though  in  the  greener  paths  of  earth, 

Mother  and  child,  no  more 
We  wander;  and  no  more  the  birth 

Of  me  whom  once  you  bore, 

Seems    still    the    brave    reward    that    once    it 
seemed  of  yore; 


The  Mother 


189 


The  Mother 

In  this  picture  of  his  own  mother,  the  artist,  James  McNeil  Whistler, 

has  given  the  world  a  representation  of  the  ideal  mother 

with  all  her  unselfishness,  patient  devotion, 

and  self-sacrifice 


Though  as  all  passes,  day  and  night, 

The  seasons  and  the  years, 
From  you,  O  mother,  this  delight, 

This  also  disappears — 

Some  profit  yet  survives  of  all  your  pangs  and 
tears. 


I  go  A   Vocational  Reader 

The  child,  the  seed,  the  grain  of  corn, 

The  acorn  on  the  hill, 
Each  for  some  separate  end  is  born 

In  season  fit,  and  still 

Each    must    in    strength    arise    to    work    the 
almighty  will. 

So  from  the  hearth  the  children  flee, 

By  that  almighty  hand 
Austerely  led;  so  one  by  sea 

Goes  forth,  and  one  by  land; 

Nor  aught  of  all  man's  sons  escapes  from  that 
command. 

So  from  the  sally  each  obeys 

The  unseen  almighty  nod; 
So  till  the  ending  all  their  ways 

Blindfolded,  loath,  have  trod: 

Nor  knew  their  task  at  all,  but  were  the  tools 
of  God. 

And  as  the  fervent  smith  of  yore 

Beat  out  the  glowing  blade. 
Nor  wielded  in  the  front  of  war 

The  weapons  that  he  made. 

But  in  the  tower  at  home  still  plied  his  ringing 
trade ; 

So  like  a  sword  the  son  shall  roam 

On  nobler  missions  sent; 
And  as  the  smith  remained  at  home 

In  peaceful  turret  pent. 

So   sits   the   while   at   home   the   mother   well 
content. 


The  "Girl  President"  of  Welle sley  191 

THE   "GIRL  PRESIDENT"   OF  WELLESLEY 

ADAPTED 

One  of  the  wisest  men  now  living  in  the  United 
States  said  of  AUce  Freeman  Palmer,  "To  my  mind, 
this  career  is  unmatched  by  that  of  any  other  Ameri- 
can woman.  Mrs.  Palmer's  life  and  labors  are  the 
best  example  thus  far  set  before  American  woman- 
hood." Another  of  her  fellow  countrymen  said, 
toward  the  end  of  a  long  life  of  eminence  and 
public  service,  '^There  is  no  other  of  our  generation, 
with  the  possible  exception  of  Phillips  Brooks,  who 
has  stood  to  such  a  degree  for  those  qualities  in 
which  we  must  all  believe  with  unquenchable  faith 
if  we  are  to  do  anything  in  this  world." 

Yet  she  was  little  in  the  public  eye — -and  that 
little  rather  against  her  will.  She  neither  wrote  books 
nor  went  about  the  country  delivering  lectures.  Her 
tastes  were  all  for  her  home.  She  avoided  society, 
and  gave  herself  to  her  housekeeping,  to  her  friends, 
and  to  all  persons  whom  she  could  help.  She  had  no 
early  advantages  of  birth  or  station.  Half  her  years 
were  spent  in  comparative  poverty.  By  sheer  per- 
sonality and  character  she  made  herself  perhaps 
the  most  widely  loved  woman  of  her  time;  so  that 
when  she  died,  in  1902,  nearly  two  thousand  persons 
wrote  to  her  husband  to  express  their  personal  loss. 

Colesville,  in  central  New  York,  where  Alice 
Freeman  was  born  in  1855,  is  not  even  a  village — 
merely  a  group  of  farms,  with  the  nearest  consider- 
able hamlet   seven  miles  away.     It   is  a  fair  and 


Alice  Freeman 


Courtesy  of  George  Herbert  Palmer 

Palmer 


With  an  unswerving  will  to  learn  and  an  unconquerable  determi- 
nation to  succeed,  this  woman  ivon  the  presidency  of  a  great 
college  and  recognition  as  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  women  of  her  time 


The  "Girl  President''  of  Wellesley  193 

smiling  land,  with  hills  and  fertile  fields  and  woods, 
and  the  winding  Susquehanna — a  country  to  make 
a.  child  love  nature  and  become  strong  and  sane. 

Here  the  little  girl  grew  up  like  any  farmer's 
daughter.  There  was  little  money  and  much  work 
to  do.  Almost  as  soon  as  Alice  could  walk  she  was 
assigned  the  duty  of  calling  her  father  from  the 
field,  of  helping  her  mother  with  the  dishes  and  the 
beds,  and  of  gathering  eggs  from  the  barn.  By  the 
time  she  was  fiT^e  she  had  three  younger  brothers 
and  sisters  to  attend.  As  they  grew  older  she 
dressed  them,  brushed  their  hair,  took  them  to 
school,  and  performed  all  the  offices  of  a  little  mother 
in  a  household  of  slender  means.  At  an  age  when 
children  of  the  well-to-do  are  hardly  out  of  their 
nurses'  arms,  this  little  country  girl  was  already  well 
started  in  the  cheerful  doing  of  regular  work,  lighten- 
ing the  labor  of  those  above  her  and  taking  responsi- 
bihty  for  those  below.  Precisely  this,  it  turned  out, 
was  to  be  her  vocation  in  life. 

Of  early  schooling  she  had  little  that  was  worth 
while,  until  at  the  age  of  ten  she  entered  the  academy 
in  the  nearest  village. 

Fortunately,  this  school,  though  smah,  was 
thoroughly  good.  The  pupils  were  put  through  the 
solid  old-fashioned  subjects — Greek,  Latin,  mathe- 
matics—till they  learned  to  work  and  to  think. 
Better  still,  they  came  under  the  influence  of  an 
uncommonly  gifted  teacher  who  opened  Miss  Free- 
man's eyes  to  a  new  world.  "Words  do  not  tell," 
she  said  in  later  years,  "what  this  old  school  and 
13 


194  ^   Vocational  Reader 

place  meant  to  me  as  a  girl.  Here  we  were  taught 
truthfulness,  to  be  upright  and  honorable;  here  we 
had  our  first  hopes,  our  first  ambitions,  our  first 
dreams,  and  some  of  us  our  first  disappointments. 
We  owe  a  large  debt  to  Windsor  Academy  for  the 
solid  groundwork  of  education  which  it  laid." 

At  seventeen,  Miss  Freeman  was  ready  for  college. 
Her  family,  however,  opposed  her  going.  Few  boys, 
even,  had  ever  gone  to  college  from  those  parts; 
few  girls  at  that  time  went  from  anywhere.  The 
family  means  were  scanty.  At  most,  only  one  child 
could  go  to  college,  and  that  one  ought  to  be  the 
son,  since  he  would  have  to  support  the  family. 

Alice  Freeman,  on  the  other  hand,  argued  that 
since  she  was  the  eldest  child  she  ought  to  have 
the  first  chance  at  training  that  would  enable  her 
to  help  the  younger  children.  Anyhow,  she  meant 
to  go  if  it  took  her  till  she  was  fifty.  Long  and 
grave  were  the  family  counsels;  but  in  the  end  the 
daughter's  judgment  prevailed. 

But  what  college?  The  splendid  women's  colleges 
of  the  present  day  had  either  not  then  been  founded 
or  were  just  getting  a  feeble  start  in  the  world. 
Only  a  few  men's  colleges  had  admitted  women  on 
any  terms.  The  best  of  these  was  the  University 
of  Michigan,  which  had  opened  its  doors  to  women 
only  two  years  before.  It  was  a  thousand  miles  away 
■ — but  it  was  the  best.  To  Michigan,  therefore, 
Miss  Freeman  went.  For  the  rest  of  her  life  she  be- 
lieved boys  and  girls  should  be  educated  together. 

Before    she    was    twenty,    needing    money,    she 


The  "Girl  President  of  Welle  si  ey 


195 


T'hotof^rapli  from  Nichols  Studio 


Crews  of  Wellesley  College  forming  the  "W"  on  Lake  Waban 

dropped  out  of  college  and  became  principal  of  the 
Ottawa  High  School.  It  was  the  first  time  she 
had  ever  taught;  some  of  the  pupils  were  her  own 
age;  all  the  teachers  were  older.  "I  begin  at  nine 
in  the  morning,"  she  writes  to  one  of  her  college 
mates,  "and  end  at  half -past  four.  Then  I  have 
my  registers  and  class  books  to  arrange,  and  so  don't 
go  home  till  supper  time.  After  that  I  have  eight 
lessons  to  prepare  for  the  next  day,  which,  when 
I  am  tired,  costs  some  effort.  I  try  to  spend  the 
entire  evening  on  these.  Friday  nights  I  arrange 
the  standing  of  each  one  and  count  the  absences. 
Once  a  week  we  have  essays,  declamations,  and 
readings;  and  Saturday  afternoons  I  have  essays 
to  criticise.  Then  I  board  three  quarters  of  a  mile 
from  the  school,  and  that  takes  time.  Saturday, 
I  sew  all  the  evening  as  hard  as  possible."  With 
all    this,    Miss    Freeman    managed,    by    using    her 


196  A   Vocational  Reader 

vacations,  to  keep  up  with  her  college  studies  and 
graduate  with  her  class. 

Teaching  was  clearly  her  vocation,  and  to  teach- 
ing she  went,  returning  to  the  university  for  further 
study  during  her  summers.  At  twenty-two,  slight 
and  in  feeble  health,  she  was  principal  of  the  high 
school  at  Saginaw,  Michigan,  where  one  of  her  first 
official  acts  was  to  expel  a  turbulent  youth  of  her 
own  age.  When  she  was  twenty-four  she  became 
professor  of  history  at  Wellesley  College.  At 
twenty-six  she  became  president,  with  a  salary 
of  four  thousand  dollars  a  year.  Truly  she  had 
made  good  her  promise  to  her  family  when  she 
asked  them  to  give  her  first  chance  at  a  college  course ! 

Her  success  was  brilliant ;  she  was  soon  one  of  the 
noted  women  of  the  country.  Her  means  were  ample. 
Her  wide  circle  of  friends  included  many  of  the  most 
eminent  men  and  women  of  America  and  Europe. 

But  her  public  career  had  been  forced  upon  her — 
she  would  much  have  preferred  a  home  of  her  own. 
She  started  the  college  on  the  seventh  year  of  her 
presidency,  carried  it  till  the  first  day  of  the  Christ- 
mas vacation,  worked  at  her  desk  till  midnight,  and 
then  closed  that  desk  forever,  being  then  only 
thirty-two.  The  next  morning,  at  the  house  of 
the  governor  of  Massachusetts,  she  was  married  to 
George  Herbert  Palmer. 

Her  husband  was  a  professor  at  Harvard,  a  scholar 
of  world-wide  reputation.  When  they  were  first 
married,  the  wife,  having  always  boarded,  knew  so 
little  about  housekeeping  that  her  husband  had  to 


The  "Girl  President"  of  Wellesley  197 

instruct  her.  But  she  soon  became  almost  as 
famous  as  a  housewife  as  she  had  been  as  a  college 
president,  and  was  the  neighborhood  oracle  for 
cooking  recipes  and  the  fitting  of  frocks. 

Then  followed  not  only  the  happiest  but  perhaps 
the  most  useful  period  of  Mrs.  Palmer's  life.  She 
had  a  beautiful  home  in  one  of  the  finest  old  houses 
in  Cambridge.  There  at  all  hours  of  the  day 
thronged  all  sorts  of  visitors — working  girls  and 
college  studenfs  and  famous  men  and  women  from 
two  hemispheres,  so  that  the  family  rarely  sat  down 
to  a  meal  without  a  guest.  They  had,  besides,  a 
charming  summer  home  in  an  out-of-the-way 
country  village  where  nobody  ever  came.  Every 
few  years  they  traveled  or  kept  house  in  Europe. 

Few  were  the  good  causes  or  the  interesting  move- 
ments in  which  Mrs.  Palmer  did  not  have  a  part. 
She  was  trustee  of  Wellesley  and  of  various  other 
schools  and  colleges.  She  raised  one  hundred  and 
ten  thousand  dollars  for  Wellesley  College,  and 
another  hundred  thousand  for  Radcliffe.  She  organ- 
ized the  women's  department  of  the  University  of 
Chicago,  and  the  chime  of  bells  in  its  tower,  given 
in  her  memory,  daily  voices  her  praise.  She  was 
one  of  the  founders  and  also  the  president  of  the 
national  association  of  women  college  graduates. 
She  helped  to  start  a  women's  college  in  Spain. 
She  originated  a  league  for  the  protection  of  poor 
immigrants  from  Italy.  Her  lesser  affairs  are 
beyond  counting. 

For   thirteen  years   the   successive   governors  of 


igS  A  Vocational  Reader 

Massachusetts  appointed  her  to  membership  in  the 
State  Board  of  Education,  until  by  length  of  service 
she  became  the  senior  member  and  the  most  influen- 
tial. Manual  training  in  the  schools,  domestic 
science  teaching,  the  improvement  of  the  country 
schools  to  the  level  of  the  city  schools,  are  in  large 
measure  her  work.  In  addition,  she  was  one  of  a 
small  committee  who  managed  entirely  the  state 
exhibit  for  the  Columbian  Exposition  at  Chicago. 

Yet  all  these  varied  and  important  tasks  were 
done  without  pay,  as  other  women  serve  church  or 
club — incidents  to  her  housekeeping. 

This  is  probably  the  most  brilliant  career  of  any 
woman  of  this  generation.  Yet  how  uneventful  it 
was !  She  got  her  education.  She  earned  her  living. 
She  married.  She  created  a  home.  What  time  and 
strength  she  could  spare  from  her  household,  she 
gave  to  worthy  labor  outside.  Half  the  girls  who 
read  this  account  will  have  no  other  life  story. 


THE   PROFESSIONS 


THE   RETURN    OF   RHODA 

SUSAN    GLASPELL 

"Seems  a  little  lonely  at  times,  mother." 

"Now,  pa,  you  know  it  's  all  for  the  best." 

"I  'm  not  arguing  that  it  isn't  all  for  the  best. 
I  was  saying  it  was  a  little  lonely — that  's  all." 

Mrs.  Free  pulled  the  big  wooden  rocker  nearer 
the  stove,  which  was  sending  a  warm  glow  through 
the  old-fashioi^ed  sitting  room,  and  took  up  the 
soft  'white  wool  which  she  was  to  transform  into 
"one  of  those  shoulder  things"  for  Rhoda — Rhoda 
would  need  such  things  now  she  was  in  the  city. 

But  instead  of  beginning  her  work  she  turned  a 
little  in  her  chair  and  looked  out  at  the  broad  ex- 
panse of  white.  The  hills  were  all  cold  and  shining, 
and  more  snow  was  even  now  flying  in  the  air. 
Winter  had  come  in  earnest. 

"Of  course,  mother,"  said  the  old  farmer,  with  a 
quiet,  kindly  sort  of  humor  in  his  voice,  "you  are 
never  lonesome." 

"When  I  do  get  lonesome,  pa,"  she  said,  picking 
up  her  work,  "I  just  keep  thinking  how  it  's  all  for 
the  best — and  that  's  consoling." 

John  Free  walked  over  to  the  window.  "If 
Rhoda  was  home  now,  and  was  teaching  the  school, 
I  'd  just  about  be  putting  Nellie  to  the  cutter. 
Rhoda  never  did  much  walking  over  bad  roads 
when  I  was  around." 

201 


202  A  Vocational  Reader 

"And  Rhoda  appreciated  it,  pa,"  said  Mrs.  Free, 
after  a  pause,  in  which  she  had  been  silently  counting 
stitches. 

"Rhoda  was  the  best  teacher  they  ever  had  around 
here."  And  then,  as  his  wife  was  still  counting 
stitches,  he  continued,  half  aggressively,  "Every- 
body says  that." 

"Fourteen — fifteen — sixteen.  You  never  heard 
me  say,  pa,  Rhoda  was  n't  a  good  teacher.  All  I 
said  was,  a  girl  who  could  sing  like  Rhoda  had  no 
business  teaching  the  Hickory  Grove  school — or 
any  other,  for  that  matter." 

"Brother  Williams  says  there  isn't  the  same 
inspiration  in  his  preaching  now  that  Rhoda 's 
left  the  choir;  and  I  will  say,"  his  voice  sank  to 
the  tone  of  one  making  a  confession,  "that  while 
I  go  to  church  to  worship  the  Lord,  the  worshiping 
was  a  little — well,  a  little  more  pleasant,  I  might 
say,  when  Rhoda  was  there." 

"More  than  one  has  said  that,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Free  complacently, 

"I  never  saw  anything  to  beat  the  way  this  whole 
community  leaned  on  Rhoda!  'Twas  Rhoda  this 
— and  Rhoda  that;  nothing  from  a  barn  raising 
to  a  funeral  could  go  on  without  her.  They  can't 
ever  say  our  Rhoda  was  stingy  with  her  singing, 
mother." 

"I  guess  our  Rhoda  wouldn't  have  been  her 
pa's  daughter  if  she  was  stingy  with  anything," 
said  Mrs.  Free  quietly. 

She  had  a  way  of  saying  those  things  when  least 


The  Return  of  Rhoda  203 

expected,  and  they  never  failed  to  be  disconcerting. 
"Now  I  wasn't  counting  on  that  having  anything 
to  do  with  it,"  he  said,  awkwardly. 

"Mother,"  he  went  on,  after  listening  patiently 
to  "thirteen — fourteen — fifteen — sixteen,"  "shall 
you  ever  forget  how  she  sang  'Lead,  Kindly  Light' 
at  Tim  Powers'  funeral?  Seems  like  of  all  the  times 
I  ever  heard  her,  that  was  the  most  moving." 

The  soft.wool  fell  to  Mrs.  Free's  lap.  ' ' Rhoda's  so 
sympathetic,"  she  said  softly. 

John  Free  chii-ckled.  ' '  'Pears  to  me  she  would  n't 
be  her  mother's  daughter  if  she  was  n't  some 
sympathetic." 

"Fourteen — fifteen — sixteen — turn,"  was  the 
only  response. 

"S'pose  I  might  as  well  be  about  the  chores. 
Does  seem  like  this  winter  was  going  to  be  mighty 
long." 

"Now,  pa,  don't  be  so  restless — fourteen — fifteen 
— sixteen — there! — that's  wrong." 

He  stood  by  the  window,  putting  on  his  heavy 
coat.  "Looks  like  Fred  Barrett's  cutter  coming," 
he  remarked. 

"If  Rhoda  was  home  it  would  n't  be  hard  to  guess 
where  he  was  making  for,"  remarked  Mrs.  Free. 

"Coming  along  pretty  brisk.  Cold  out,  I  reckon. 
He's  got  some  one  in  with  him — and  'tisn't  a  man. 
Mother,"  he  cried,  excitedly,  after  a  moment, 
"Fred  Barrett's  opening  the  gate!  Mother,"  he 
added  in  a  choked  voice,  "come  here!" 

She   stood   beside   him   at  the  window,   and   he 


204  ^4  Vocational  Reader 

pointed  down  to  the  gate.  "What  do  you  think?" 
he  gasped. 

The  woman's  face  grew  strangely  white.  ' '  It 's — 
it's — it  can't  be — 'tis — " 

"Rhoda!" 

They  stood  there  in  a  daze,  and  then  two  pairs 
of  hands  were  fumbHng  at  the  knob. 

How  Rhoda  got  out  of  the  sleigh,  who  carried  in 
the  valise,  how  Fred  Barrett  got  away  without 
being  so  much  as  asked  in,  they  never  quite  knew. 
It  was  all  a  strange  whirl,  and  then  the  door  was 
shut,  the  sleighbells  died  away,  and  Rhoda,  after 
one  strange,  frightened  look  around  the  old  room, 
threw  herself  into  her  mother's  arms — hat,  snowy 
coat,  and  all;  and  there  burst  from  her  the  wild, 
uncontrollable  sobs  which  follow  a  long,  bitter  strain. 

The  mother  stood  holding  her  in  utter  silence — 
she  was  a  mother,  and  knew  what  was  best.  But 
when  John  Free  could  bear  it  no  longer,  he  put  a 
hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder,  and  said,  brokenly, 
his  own  rugged  face  wet  with  tears,  "Rhoda,  girl, 
you're  home  now.  No  matter  what's  happened, 
it's    all    right    now." 

She  raised  her  head  then  and  groped  for  her 
father's  hands,  "It  was  a  mistake,"  she  moaned, 
piteously,  "a  mistake." 

"Now,  what's  a  mistake?"  said  John  Free.  "I 
just  want  to  know." 

"Mother,"  cried  the  girl,  her  voice  still  thick 
with  sobs,  "it's  gone!  Our  dream's  gone,  mother! 
I — I — oh,  I — can't — sing!"     She  sank  to  a  chair, 


The  Return  of  Rhoda  205 

her  head  fell  to  the  table,  and  sobs  such  as  the  old 
room  had  never  heard  before  crowded  upon  one 
another  in  hot,  passionate  succession. 

"Something's  happened  to  your  voice,  Rhoda?" 
asked  the  old  farmer,  timidly. 

She  grew  more  quiet  then.  "Oh,  no,  pa,"  she 
said,  "nothing 's  happened  to  it.  It  never  was  there. 
I  never  could  sing." 

"Well,  I  guess  w^e  know  better  than  that! — 
And  whoever  said — " 

"Now,  pa,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Free,  "this  is  no  time 
for  arguing.  Come  right  up  to  the  fire,  Dodie, 
and  We'll  get  ofif  those  wet  things  and  get  a  good, 
hot  drink.  You'll  take  your  death  o'  cold — sitting 
there  as  though  no  one  cared  whether  you  were 
wet  or  dry!" 

After  her  feet  were  warm,  and  she  had  sipped  the 
tea  her  mother  had  made  for  her,  and  the  old 
surroundings  had  taken  a  little  of  the  sting  from 
her  wound,  the  girl  began  casting  about  in  her 
mind  for  words  which  would  not  distress  her  parents. 
They  were  sitting  on  each  side  of  her,  eager  to 
know  and  yet  reluctant  to  ask  questions  which 
would  bring  pain — their  sorrow,  after  all,  tempered 
with  gladness  because  she  was  at  home. 

"You  see,  pa,"  she  began  quietly,  "there  are  no 
really  great  singers  around  here.  I  am  the  best 
there  is,  and  so,  because  I  can  sing  a  little.  Miss 
Parsons — all  of  us — made  a  mistake  and  thought 
I  had  a  great  voice,  when  I  have  n't." 

"But  I  don't  see,"  began  the  old  farmer. 


2o6  A  Vocational  Reader 

"Now,  pa,"  protested  his  wife,  "just  let  Rhoda 
tell  it." 

"The  city  is  full  of  good  singers,  mother.  They 
come  from  all  over  the  country.  There  are  thou- 
sands of  them  who  can  sing  better  than  I  can." 

"Now  I  don't  believe  that!"  cried  her  father, 
slapping  his  knee  hard. 

The  girl  smiled  at  him  fondly.  "You'll  have  to 
believe  it,  pa,  for  my  teacher,  one  of  the  best  in  the 
whole  city,  said  so." 

"He  did,  did  he?  Well,  what  had  you  done  to 
make  him  mad?     There's  something  behind  it!" 

Oh,  no,  pa.  And  you  must  n't  resent  it.  It  was 
very  kind  of  him.  He  might  have  gone  on  taking 
our  money  for  a  long  time,  but  he  did  n't,  you  see." 

"Hum!"  grunted  John  Free,  dubiously. 

"And  he  was  so  very  kind  about  it.  It  was  after 
my  lesson,  and  I  was  standing  there,  putting  on 
my  gloves,  when  he  looked  over  at  me  in  a  strange 
kind  of  way  and  asked  me  just  what  I  hoped  to 
make  of  my  voice.  I  did  n't  quite  know  what  to 
say,  and  then  he  asked  me  point-blank  if  I  expected 
to  make  money  out  of  it,  to  make  back  the  money 
I  was  putting  into  it.  I  told  him  I  did,  and  then — 
then  he  asked  me  something  about  our  circumstances 
here  at  home- — oh,  very  kindly,  pa,"  as  an  angry 
exclamation  burst  from  the  old  farmer — "and 
when  I  told  him  we  were  n't  rich,  that — that  it 
had  been  an  effort,  you  know,  he  looked  at  me  very 
queerly,  and  then  he  sat  down  and  told  me  the 
truth."     She   hesitated,    and   then    went    on    with 


The  Return  of  Rhoda  207 

a  little  catch  in  her  voice.  "And  in  spite  of  all 
I've  suffered,  I  thank  him  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart." 

Her  mother  reached  over  and  took  one  of  her 
hands.     "Just  what  did  he  say,  Dodie?" 

"Merely  that  it  wasn't  great,  mother;  that  it 
was  n't  worth  the  money  we  would  have  to  put 
into  it.  He  says  voices  can  be  made  without  much 
to  start  on,  but  it  takes  a  long  time  and  a  great 
expenditure,  and  when  there  are  so  many  who 
have — have  something  good  to  begin  with,  why,  my 
voice  would  brmg  us  nothing  but — disappointment. 
And  'I  see  that  he  is  right. 

"He  says  it's  a  nice  httle  home  voice,"  she  went 
on,  trying  to  smile,  "but  that  is  all  it  ever  will  be, 
you  know,  and  I  can't  afford  to  pay  five  dollars  a 
lesson  for — don't  you  see,  mother?" 

Mrs.  Free  only  pressed  her  child's  hand  tighter, 
fighting  the  lump  which  kept  rising  in  her  own 
throat. 

"I  wasn't  very  philosophical  about  it  at  first," 
continued  the  girl,  her  voice  shaking  as  if  it  might 
give  way  with  any  word.  "Of  course  I  didn't 
cry  or  make  any  fuss  before  him.  I  could  see 
that  it  was  kind  of  him,  and  I  told  him  so,  and 
that  I  would  n't  take  any  more  lessons.  Oh — 
he  was  so  good  about  it!  He  told  me  that  we 
couldn't  all  have  great  voices  in  this  world;  that 
it  was  n't  our  fault  if  we  did  n't  have  them,  and 
that  if  we  did  the  best  we  could  with  what  we  had, 
there  was  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of.     He  shook 


2oS  A  Vocational  Reader 

hands  with  me,  and  said  he  had  Hked  me  so  much, 
and  that  it  was  just  because  he  Hked  me  he  had 
told  me. 

"I  knew  that  what  he  said  was  true — about  our 
only  being  expected  to  do  our  best  with  what  we 
had,  and  yet — O  mother! — mother! — you  know 
how  foolish  I've  been!  You  know  how  I've  stood 
up  in  our  little  church,  and  dreamed  it  was  a  great 
city  church  with  thousands  of  people — you  know 
how  I  've  gone  to  sleep  at  night  dreaming  I  was 
taking  great  armfuls  of  flowers,  while  people  clapped 
and  clapped  to  hear  me  sing  again!  Mother,  you 
know!"  and  she  pressed  the  worn  hand  she  held 
close  to  her  cheek,  while  the  hot  tears  ran  down  her 
tired,  white  face. 

"When  was  all  this?"  demanded  her  father,  his 
voice  gruff  with  the  effort  to  keep  back  the  tears. 

Rhoda  hesitated.  "Ten  days  ago,"  she  said  at 
last. 

"And  where  under  the  sun  have  you  been  ever 
since?" 

She  pushed  back  her  hair  wearily.  "I've  been 
trying  to  work  in  a  store — and  I  was  almost  as 
dismal  a  failure  at  that  as  I  was  as  a  prima  donna." 

"Now,  Rhoda, —  how  could  you?"  cried  her 
mother. 

' '  Oh,  you  don't  know  the  feeling  I  had !  I  wanted 
to  come  home,  and  yet  I  just  could  n't.  It  seemed 
like  coming  home  defeated.  It  seemed  I  just  must 
do  something  in  the  city,  so  one  of  the  girls  got 
me  a  place  in  a  store." 


The  Return  of  Rhoda  209 

She  paused,  and  then  laughed — the  nearest  to  a 
natural  laugh  they  had  heard  since  her  return. 
"I  was  an  awful  clerk!  I  hated  it!  The  air  was 
so  bad,  and  some  of  the  people  were  so  snippy  and 
horrid.  And  then,  father,  one  night  I  came  home 
with  my  head  and  feet  both  aching,  and  all  tired 
and  sick,  and  I  found  your  letter  about  Mr.  Childs 
wishing  I  was  home  to  take  the  school,  and  about 
you  and  mother  being  so  lonesome,  and — and 
that  letter  brought  me  home." 

John  Free  clq^red  his  throat  and  looked  over  at 
his  wife  with  an  air  which  defied  contradiction  or 
rebuke. 

"It's  a  curious  thing,"  he  said,  "that  I  was 
telling  your  mother  this  very  afternoon  that  I  had 
nine  tenths  a  notion  to  go  and  telegraph  Rhoda  to 
come  home.  I — I'm  not  feeling  any  too  well  this 
winter." 

"Aren't  you,  pa?"  she  asked,  in  quick  concern. 
"What  seems—" 

"Oh,  I'll  be  all  right  now,"  he  hastened  to  say, 
and  looked  boldly  over  at  his  wife. 

He  went  out  to  see  about  the  chores  then,  and 
the  girl  sat  and  talked  her  heart  out  to  her  mother. 
When  it  came  time  to  get  supper  she  went  about 
some  of  her  old  duties  naturally,  almost  gayly,  and 
she  more  than  once  brought  joy  to  her  mother's 
heart  by  letting  her  laugh  ring  gladly  out  through 
the  old  kitchen. 

"Mother,"  she  called  from  the  window,  where 
she  was  standing   beating  an   egg,    "where  under 

13B 


2IO  A  Vocational  Reader 

the  sun  is  father  going  this  time  of  night?     He's 
got  NelHe  hitched  up,  and  he's  going  off." 

"Now  I  do  say!"  cried  Mrs.  Free,  and  hurried  to 
the  door  to  enter  protest,  but  only  in  time  to  see 
her  husband  wave  his  hand  in  provoking  fashion 
and  drive  away. 

"Well,  if  that  is  n't  funny!"  laughed  the  girl,  and 
went  on  beating  her  egg. 

When  he  came  back,  about  half  an  hour  later,  he 
sat  by  the  fire  and  watched  Rhoda  set  the  table. 
"Joe  Childs  was  mighty  tickled,"  he  chuckled,  at 
last. 

She  put  down  the  sugarbowl  with  a  thump. 
"Now,  father,  where  have  you  been?" 

"Hum!  Guess  I've  got  a  right  to  go  about  my 
own  business.  I  had  an  errand  up  to  Joe  Childs's, 
and  while  there — while  there,"  he  repeated,  eying 
her  defiantly,  ' '  I  happened  to  mention  that  you  were 
home — and,  say,  he  jumped  right  out  of  his  chair, 
and  waved  his  arms  and  shouted  at  me,  'Look  here, 
John  Free,  will  Rhoda  teach  our  school?'  and  I 
replied  that  you  might  consider  it." 

"Now— father!" 

She  laid  the  knives  and  forks  around,  and  then 
stood  there,  looking  at  him  with  eyes  a  little  misty. 
"But  it  is  nice  to  feel  you're  back  where  some  one 
wants  you,  where — where  you're  a  success,"  she 
added  tremulously. 

"Never  was  a  teacher  around  here  like  you," 
said  John  Free. 

— From  The  Youth's  Cotnpanion 


Preparing-  to  Be  a  Teacher  211 

PREPARING  TO   BE   A  TEACHER 

KARL   W.    GEHRKENS 

The  girl  who  is  trying  to  make  up  her  mind 
whether  or  not  she  shall  teach  school  should 
remember  these  things: 

First,  the  choice  of  a  vocation  is  too  important 
a  matter  for  her  to  decide  hastily.  In  justice  to 
herself  and  every  one  else,  she  should  make  sure 
that  she  is  beginning  work  that  will  suit  her,  and  is 
within  her  capabilities. 

Second,  although  teaching  is  the  traditional 
occupation  for  women,  and  although  one  hundred 
thousand  new  teachers — more  than  three  quar- 
ters of  whom  are  women — are  needed  every  year, 
there  are  other  less  widely  known  occupations 
that  are  sometimes  more  attractive.  The  aver- 
age salaries  in  teaching  are  undoubtedly  lower 
than  in  many  other  professions,  although  the 
teacher  whose  preparation  is  thorough,  who  has 
chosen  an  uncrowded  specialty,  and  whose  per- 
sonal qualities  are  of  the  right  kind,  generally 
has  little  complaint  to  make  about  payment,  if 
she  considers  also  the  intangible  rewards  of  her 
profession. 

Notwithstanding  the  attractiveness  of  many  of 
the  vocations  more  recently  opened  to  women, 
teaching  is  a  profession  that  always  will  attract — and 
rightly  so — ^vast  numbers  of  women.  A  large  part 
of  the  overcrowding  and  a  still  larger  part  of  the 
failures  in  the  profession  are  due  to  insufficient  or 

14 


2  12 


A  Vocational  Reader 


Janet  M.  Cumminga 

The  teacher  in  the  country  school,  above  all,  must  be  friend  and 
guide  and  counselor  to  her  little  charges 

unintelligent  preparation,  or  to  ignorance  of  the 
advantages  and  disadvantages  of  specific  branches 
of  teaching. 

The  girl  who  expects  to  teach  school  must  remem- 
ber that  the  profession  of  teaching  is  too  responsible 
to  be  entered  thoughtlessly  or  lightly.  The  ideal 
that  the  child  carries  with  him  throughout  life  is 
usually  the  ideal  that  he  has  acquired  while  in  school. 
Since  he  looks  up  to  the  teacher  as  the  most  impor- 
tant person  in  the  school,  many  of  his  habits  will  be 
formed  in  direct  imitation  of  her  conduct,  and 
many  of  his  ideals  will  be  based  on  what  she  thinks 
and  says.     These  ideals  will  remain  with  him  long 


Preparing  to  Be  a  Teacher  213 

after  he  has  forgotten  his  arithmetic  and  geography. 
Character  is  undoubtedly  the  first  essential  to  success 
in  teaching. 

The  second  essential  is  good  scholarship.  The 
prospective  teacher  must  do  her  own  school  work 
well,  and  have  under  good  control  the  knowledge 
that  she  is  to  impart.  Children  admire  skill  of  all 
kinds — mental  as  well  as  physical;  they  respect 
the  teacher  who  knows  her  subject  so  thoroughly 
that  she  does  not  need  to  keep  her  textbook  con- 
stantly in  hand.  This  does  not  mean  that  the 
teacher  must  l>e  able  to  remember  everything  that 
she  has  ever  learned;  she  must  have  done  her  own 
academic  work  so  well  that  she  can  easily  make  her 
knowledge  available  by  brief  review.  Remember 
that  it  is  the  poorly  prepared  teacher  whose  work  is 
full  of  care  and  worry. 

Some  of  the  best  students,  however,  often  turn 
out  to  be  very  poor  teachers.  Besides  knowing 
her  teaching  material  well,  the  teacher  must  like 
children,  and  be  genuinely  interested  in  their 
activities.  It  is  significant  that  as  a  rule  teachers 
who  have  small  brothers  and  sisters  make  the 
best  primary  teachers;  they  have  learned  uncon- 
sciously to  understand  the  point  of  view  of  the 
child.  The  girl  who  is  bored  by  having  children 
around,  who  thinks  their  games  are  silly,  and  who 
is  not  willing  to  show  her  small  brother  how  to 
manipulate  a  new  toy,  had  better  either  change 
her  attitude  or  follow  some  other  occupation  than 
teaching. 


214 


A  Vocational  Reader 


The  most  successful  teacher  is  the  one  who 
comes  closest  to  her  pupils.  The  successful  teacher 
is  also  patient.     Children's  minds  do  not  work  as 


A  school  where  teachers  are  trained.     Among  scenes  like  this  tJie 

prospective  teacher  does  her  academic  work,  gaining  the 

knowledge  she  is  to  impart  to  the  children 

rapidly  as  grown  people's.  No  girl  can  become  a 
successful  teacher  if  she  is  impatient — with  children 
or  anybody  else! 

Another  essential  is  good  health.  No  girl  who 
is  not  strong  should  consider  going  into  the  work 
of  teaching.  Teaching  is  hard  work  physically,  and 
wearing  work  mentally.  The  teacher's  hours  are 
long.     The  popular  belief  that  the  teacher's  day  is 


Preparing  to  Be  a  Teacher  215 

a  short  one — only  six  hours  for  five  days  a  week — 
is  false.  In  order  to  make  a  real  success  of  her  work, 
the  teacher  must  spend  a  good  deal  of  time  each  day 
in  planning  and  preparing  lessons,  correcting  papers, 
helping  individual  pupils,  or  caring  for  the  interests 
of  the  school  in  the  community.  The  teacher  who 
expects  to  go  very  far  in  her  profession  must  spend 
many  of  the  long  summer  vacations  at  summer 
schools.  She  can  generally  carry  on  this  necessary 
study,  however,  under  pleasant  conditions. 

The  successfiUl  teacher  is  personally  attractive. 
She  has  a  pleasing  personal  appearance — a  very 
different  thing  from  beauty — the  ability  to  select 
becoming  clothes  and  to  wear  them  in  a  tasteful 
manner,  a  low-pitched  and  well-modulated  speaking 
voice — either  natural  or  acquired — and  tact  in 
dealing  with  her  associates. 

If  a  teacher  has  these  qualities,  and  in  addition 

plenty  of  common   sense   and   a   devotion   to   her 

work,  she  will  succeed.     In  considering  teaching  as 

a  vocation,  the  girl  should  remember  what  insurance 

men  call  the  "cumulative  dividends"  paid  on  a  life 

investment.     The  teacher  who  devotes  her  life  to 

the  work  and  labors  in  the  right  spirit  will,  as  the 

years  pass  by,  win  the  love  and  gratitude  of  her 

former  pupils.     How  valuable  is  this  reward,  only 

those  can  tell  who  have  won  it ;  only  those  who  with 

Agassiz   desire   this   one   word   as   their   epitaph  — • 

"Teacher." 

— From  Tlw  Youth's  Companion 


2i6  A  Vocational  Reader 

THE    COUNTRY    LAWYER    IN    NATIONAL 

AFFAIRS 

GROVER   CLEVELAND 

"God  made  the  country  and  man  made  the  town." 
These  words,  written  more  than  a  century  ago,  give 
voice  to  a  sentiment  which  has  been  deep-rooted  in 
the  minds  of  men  ever  since  the  first  city  was  built. 
The  beHef  has  been  very  generahy  accepted  that 
nearness  to  nature  exerts  a  benign  influence  upon 
heart  and  character.  The  incidents  of  country  hfe 
not  only  stimulate  the  delicate  and  lovable  features 
of  human  character  but  promote  and  foster  mental 
vigor,  wholesome  self-reliance,  sturdy  pertinacity, 
unflinching  courage,  and  faith  in  honest  endeavor. 

The  relationship  of  rural  conditions  which  produce 
these  qualities  to  success  in  the  rugged  and  stern 
realities  of  life  is  indicated  by  the  fact  that  a  large 
proportion  of  all  those  who  in  town  and  city  have 
won  professional  honors  or  wealth  have  been  of 
country  birth  and  breeding. 

I  believe  legal  study  and  practice  in  the  country 
are  calculated  to  sharpen  all  these  qualities,  and  that 
this  is  their  usual  effect.  I  know  that  the  struggle 
for  a  livelihood  from  the  practice  of  law  in  the 
country,  and  the  almost  endless  number  of  practical 
things  which  the  country  lawyer  must  learn,  in  con- 
tests involving  every  social  and  business  question, 
prepare  him,  as  no  other  conditions  can,  to  deal 
intelligently  and  usefully  with  the  various  and  widely 
separated  questions  met  in  public  service. 


The  Halliday  Historic  Photograph  Co.  From  a  portrait  by  Josepli  Ames 

Daniel  Webster 

A  country  lawyer.     In  the  midst  of  his  fame,  his  thoughts 

constantly  turned  with  joy  and  enthusiasm 

to  farm  and  field  and  stream 


217 


2i8  A  Vocational  Reader 

He  has  an  advantage  in  this  regard  over  members 
of  the  profession  in  large  cities,  because  legal  work 
is  there  largely  specialized ;  and  because  of  less  dis- 
tracting surroundings  he  is  apt  to  be  more  thought- 
fully and  more  patriotically  interested  in  political 
matters. 

I  am  also  of  the  opinion  that  the  study  of  ways 
and  means,  which  the  moderate  income  of  the  country 
lawyer  makes  necessary,  and  a  familiarity  with  the 
simple,  inexpensive  manner  of  living  prevalent  in 
rural  communities,  tend  to  foster  ideas  of  frugality 
and  economy  which,  although  frequently  left  at  home 
when  public  instead  of  private  expenditures  are 
under  consideration,  ought  to  be  insisted  upon  as  in- 
dispensable to  a  satisfactory  discharge  of  official  duty. 

It  may  not  be  amiss  to  intimate  also  in  this  con- 
nection that  the  close  personal  intimacy  and  neigh- 
borliness  of  rural  life  and  a  consequent  sensitiveness 
to  the  interests  of  those  with  whom  they  dwell,  more 
easily  persuade  lawyers  in  the  country  that  they 
should  be  willing  on  patriotic  grounds  to  devote 
time  and   effort   to   official  work. 

Undoubtedly  there  has  been  a  multitude  of  country 
lawyers  endowed  with  latent  power,  "the  applause 
of  Hstening  senates  to  command, "  of  whom,  because 
opportunity  failed  them,  it  may  be  said; 

Along  the  cool,  sequestered  vale  of  life, 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 

Nevertheless,  opportunity  has  come  to  thousands  of 
them,  and  I  believe  that,  as  a  general  proposition,  it 


The  Country  Lawyer  in  National  Affairs        21  g 


Photograph  \<\    ll.-  lialliJa.N'   Ili-lunr   PIm,I.,(.'K.|.Ii  I  ■•. 

Birthplace  of  Daniel  Webster  at  Franklin,  N.  H.     A  large 
proportion  of  those  who  have  won  success  and  honor 
were  born  and  raised  in  the  country 

can  safely  be  affirmed  that  country  lawyers  are  more 
in  the  way  of  opportunity  than  city  members  of  the 
fraternity. 

Daniel  Webster  was  a  country  lawyer.  He  had 
reached  the  age  of  thirty-four  years  when  he  left 
rural  surroundings  in  the  state  of  New  Hampshire 
to  enter  the  broader  field  of  legal  practice  in  the  city 
of   Boston.     Before   that   time   he   had   laid   broad 


Photograph  by  Alexander  Heeler,  1860, 

Abraham  Lincoln 

A   man  who  loved  the  country  and  whose  nobility  of  character 
was  developed  by  rural  surroundings 


220 


TJie  Country  Lawyer  in  National  Affairs         221 

and  deep  the  foundations  of  professional  fame, 
and  had  displayed  on  the  floor  of  Congress  the 
powers  which  afterward  moved  a  nation  to  wonder 
and  admiration. 

He  was  a  devotee  of  country  life,  and  brought  to 
the  public  service  such  inspiration  as  God  gives  to 
those  who  love  His  works.  This  inspiration  made 
him  the  expounder  of  the  Constitution,  and  the 
most  powerful  and  invincible  defender  of  our 
national  life  and  unity. 

And  yet  this  leader  on  the  highest  plane  of  human 
endeavor  has  left  in  unpublished  letters,  written  by 
him'  in  the  height  of  his  fame  and  public  labors, 
ample  proof  that  in  the  midst  of  it  all  his  thoughts 
constantly  turned  with  joy  and  unabated  enthusi- 
asm to  farm  and  field  and  stream.  His  genius  for 
supreme  national  service  won  for  him  a  solitary 
place  in  American  statesmanship,  and  he  lived  in 
the  atmosphere  of  his  countrymen's  idolatry;  but 
when  it  came  his  time  to  die,  he  sought  with  child- 
like yearning  the  quiet  and  peace  of  Marshfield. 

Lincoln,  too,  was  a  country  lawyer;  and  he  was 
called  to  save  a  nation.  He  never  lost  the  impress 
of  an  early  life  closely  surrounded  with  all  the 
incidents  of  rural  existence,  and  encompassed  by 
the  stern  providences  of  God.  He,  too,  loved  the 
country;  and  He  who  made  the  country  gave  him,  in 
compensation,  an  unstinted  measure  of  inspiration 
for   the   most   impressive  and  solemn  public  duty. 

The  deeds  of  these  two  country  lawyers  need  no 
especial  recital.     They  are  written  in  the  annals  of 


222  A  Vocational  Reader 

a  grateful  nation,  and  challenge  the  admiration  of 
mankind.  And  who  shall  say  that  the  majestic 
forms  of  Webster  and  Lincoln,  standing  forth  in 
the  bright  light  of  human  achievement,  do  not 
teach  the  world  how  the  nobility  of  American 
character  is  developed  by  American  rural  life? 

— From  The  Youth's  Companion 

HOW   I   BECAME   A   DISTRICT   NURSE 

LILIAN    DODGE 

Even  as  a  girl,  I  knew  that  if  I  ever  took  up 
nursing  I  should  succeed.  My  family  never  really 
enthused  over  my  cooking.  Some  of  my  seams 
had  to  be  ripped  out  and  done  over.  I  can't  recall 
that  I  was  ever  asked  to  sing  more  than  once  at 
the  same  place;  but  I  noticed  that  when  any  one 
was  sick  he  was  glad  to  have  me  around. 

Nor  did  it  take  me  long  to  discover  that  I  had 
the  other  natural  qualities.  I  knew  that  I  should  be 
strong  enough,  because  I  could  sweep  and  dust  and 
cook,  and  be  on  my  feet  day  after  day,  and  yet  be 
up  every  morning  ready  for  the  next  duty.  I  knew 
that  I  should  be  able  to  carry  in  my  head  the  great 
mass  of  exact  information  which  every  nurse  must 
have  at  her  finger's  end,  because  I  always  managed 
to  stand  close  to  the  top  of  my  school  classes.  I 
knew  that  I  should  stand  the  loneliness  of  confine- 
ment to  a  sickroom  among  strangers,  because  I 
never  cared  much  for  parties,  anyway.  Most  of  all, 
I  knew  that  I  should  like  my  work  because  I  liked 
to  be  with  old  people  and  was  fond  of  children. 


How  I  Became  a  District  Nurse  223 

In  fact,  I  feel  very  sure  that  the  reason  why  almost 
every  girl  who  fits  herself  for  our  profession  succeeds 
in  it,  is  that  she  can  always  give  herself  so  thorough 
a  trying-out  beforehand.  She  who  does  not  like 
to  cook  her  father's  breakfast  will  not  like  to  take 
charge  of  an  invalid's  diet.  The  care  of  hospital 
instruments  and  supplies,  the  sterilizing  of  an  operat- 
ing room,  are  only  a  step  beyond  caring  for  table 
dishes  and  linen  and  scrubbing  the  kitchen  floor. 
Who  does  not  succeed  with  one  will  fail  with  the 
other.  The  gjrl  who  cannot  keep  straight  the  Vs 
in  parallel  will  never  master  the  "dosage"  of  a 
thousand  various  drugs.  Medicine,  being  one  of 
the  learned  professions,  is  closed  to  persons  who 
cannot  learn.  It  does  not  take  long  tending  of 
a  helpless  baby  brother  or  sister  to  tell  any  girl 
how  she  is  going  to  like  the  care  of  a  still  more 
helpless  adult. 

Another  thing  about  nursing  appealed  strongly 
to  me.  I  could  hope  for  only  slender  schooling,  and 
a  hospital  training  school  is  one  of  the  few  places 
where  one  is  given  a  sound  vocational  training, 
and  is  paid  for  accepting  the  gift.  Two  years  in 
the  high  school  were  all  that  my  people  could  afford 
to  give  me.  After  that,  I  must  find  some  work  to 
fill  in  the  six  years  until  I  should  be  twenty-two 
and  old  enough  to  be  admitted  into  a  training 
school. 

With  all  the  planning  and  advice  I  could  get,  the 
best  outlook  seemed  to  be  to  go  to  setting  type  in  a 
printing  office.     At  least  I  should  learn  to  spell  and 


2  24  A  Vocational  Reader 

to  punctuate,  and  thus  fill  one  gap  in  my  education. 
Typesetting  is  piece  work — I  could  toil  as  long 
and  hard  as  I  pleased,  but  when  work  was  slack, 
I  could  use  the  time  for  myself  and  not  stand  round 
waiting,  like  a  clerk  in  a  store. 

All  fell  out  as  I  planned.  I  was  sure  of  six  or 
eight  dollars  a  week,  and  twice  as  much  during 
rush  times.  When  there  was  nothing  to  do  I  studied 
for  myself,  general  school  subjects  and  those  which  I 
should  want  later  in  my  profession,  and  thus,  during 
these  six  years,  I  was  able  to  make  up  what  I  lacked 
of  the  high-school  course  which  all  hospitals  demand. 

We  used  to  print  examination  papers  for  a  near-by 
college,  and  since  I  had  had  just  a  little  more  school- 
ing than  any  of  the  other  girls,  this  work  fell  to  me. 
In  this  way  I  kept  up  and  improved  my  scholarship 
while  at  the  same  time  I  received  extra  pay  for  my 
time  and  was  often  kept  at  work  when  my  compan- 
ions were  laid  ofif.  We  also  printed  at  the  office  a 
weekly  newspaper,  and  when  items  came  in  badly 
written  I  used  to  improve  their  form  as  I  put  them 
in  type.  In  such  various  ways  I  was  able,  as  the 
saying  is,  to  "make  one  hand  wash  the  other." 

My  hospital  experience  was  about  like  that  of 
other  would-be  nurses.  I  scrubbed  paint  and  made 
beds,  and  cooked  meals  in  the  trig  Httle  diet  kitchens. 
When  I  should  have  been  in  bed,  I  shut  myself  up  in  a 
closet  with  a  candle  and  a  book  to  cram  for  exami- 
nation. I  have  come  downstairs  in  the  night  to  find 
a  patient  at  the  medicine  closet  just  on  the  point  of 
drinking  from  a  two-quart  bottle  of  carbolic  acid. 


How  I  Became  a  District  Nurse 


225 


Courtesy  of  Infant  Welfare  Association.  Chicago 


Lessons  in  practical  hygiene  by  the  district  nurse  bring  benefits  not  only 
to  the  individual  but  indirectly  to  the  entire  community 


I  have  reported  for  duty  in  the  morning  only  to  be 
told  that  the  hospital  bakers  had  struck,  and  that 
until  further  notice  I  should  be  responsible  for  the 
supply  of  bread.  I  have  run  the  steam  boiler,  when 
a  blizzard  arrived  suddenly  in  the  night  and  I  was 
on  duty  and  the  fireman  was  not.  It  's  good  train- 
ing, this  hospital  life.  By  the  time  one  gets  through, 
there  is  n't  much  that  she  is  n't  ready  for. 

I  was  always  especially  interested  in  the  talks 
which  the  graduates  of  the  hospital  used  to  give  to 
the  students  about  the  work  which  awaited  us  out- 
side.    Some  of  these  nurses  were  in  private  practice, 


226 


A  Vocational  Reader 


where  they  alternated  between  working  themselves 
half  to  death  over  one  case  and  resting  while  they 
waited  for  another.  Some  were  office  nurses,  or 
school  and  factory  nurses,  with  fixed  hours  and 
lives  as  regular  as  the  town  clock;  while  some  were 
medical  missionaries,  at  posts  in  India,  China, 
Labrador,  or  Alaska;  and  others  were  connected 
with  the  army  or  the  Red  Cross  Society.  Some 
were  heads  of  important  city  hospitals,  with  scores 
of  persons  under  them. 

Of  them  all,  however,  the  district  nurses  seemed 
to  me  to  have  the  most  interesting  work.     They 

can  live  among  civ- 
ilized people  and 
have  some  sort  of 
regular  hours,  while 
at  the  same  time 
they  are  in  for 
plenty  of  interest- 
ing adventures. 

So,  in  due  time,  a 
district  nurse  I 
b  e  c  a  m  e — o  d  d  1  y 
enough,  in  the  same 
city  where  I  had 
before  been  setting 


type.  My  regular 
duty  was  to  go 
about  among  the 
sick  poor,  and  minister  to  their  needs.  I  had  to 
teach  the  members  of  a  family  how  to  care  for  the 


Courtesy  of  Infant  Welfare  Association,  Chicago 

Incidentally  the  district  nurse  teaches 
cooking  and  housework 


How  I  Became  a  District  Nurse  227 

invalid  among  them ;  and  wherever  there  was  a  new 
baby  I  tended  it  for  a  few  weeks  while  I  gradually 
trained  the  mother  to  look  out  for  it  herself.  Inci- 
dentally, I  taught  cooking,  housework,  the  care  of  the 
older  children,  and  helped  the  bread-winners  of  the 
family  to  find  work.  In  addition,  I  responded  to 
sudden  calls  from  well-to-do  families  until  a  regular 
nurse  could  be  had. 

There  has  been  no  lack  of  variety  in  my  work. 
I  have  made  my  rounds  and  done  my  day's  work, 
and  then  helped  to  fight  for  a  typhoid  patient's  life 
three  nights  running.  Yes,  and  we  won!  But  I 
slept  from  Saturday  night  round  to  Monday  morn- 
ing after  it.  I  have  struggled  for  weeks,  commonly 
in  vain,  to  put  some  sort  of  decent  human  energy 
into  a  family  of  ne'er-do-weels  who  were  too  shiftless 
to  put  screens  in  their  windows  in  fly  time  or  to 
care  whether  the  baby's  milk  was  sweet  or  sour; 
and  I  have  comforted  self-respecting  poor  in  their 
great  sorrows. 

I  remember  how  once,  during  a  delightful  hour 
making  comfortable  a  shrewd  old  Scotsman  who 
talked  most  entertainingly  the  while,  a  half-dressed 
small  boy  burst  through  the  door,  crying,  "Miss 
Nurse,  Miss  Nurse!  Sammy  Wiggins  has  drowned 
himself  in  the  swimming  hole  next  the  icehouse, 
and  the  other  boys  are  diving  for  him!" 

The  nearest  vehicle  was  a  milk  wagon,  which  I 
impressed,  driver  and  all,  in  the  public  service 
"to    save   life." 

Down  the  street  we  tore,  and  out  along  the  country 


2  28  A  Vocational  Reader 

road,  horse  on  the  gallop  and  milk  cans  rattling 
behind  us.  Little  Sammy  Wiggins  had  n't  many 
minutes'  leeway  when  I  broke  through  the  ring  of 
frightened  boys  and  found  him  limp  on  the  grass. 
But  we  pumped  the  breath  of  life  back  into  him, 
and  in  a  week  he  was  on  his  legs  again.  Now,  when 
I  meet  him  on  his  way  to  school,  he  grins  sheepishly. 

It  is  a  good  life.  I  meet  on  equal  terms  some  of 
the  best  citizens  in  the  community — clergymen, 
physicians,  the  philanthropic  men  and  women  who 
support  my  work.  I  know  all  sorts  of  queer  and 
interesting  people  among  the  lowly.  My  uniform 
is  passport  to  any  troubled  home. 

To  be  sure,  there  are  summer  days  when  the  hot 
brick  pavements  seem  very,  very  long;  and  there 
are  winter  days  when  only  the  postman  and  I  are 
abroad.  But,  summer  or  winter,  I  am  greeted  by 
sturdy  boys  whom  I  knew  as  sickly  babies,  by  be- 
wildered young  wives  whom  I  am  teaching  to  keep 
house,  by  working  men  whom  I  have  patched  up 
and  made  able  to  earn  again,  by  the  kindly  old  to 
whom  I  have  brought  comfort.  Doctor,  clergyman, 
newspaper  man,  and  district  nurse — these  are  they 
who  get  closest  to  life. 

— From  The  Yottth's  Companion 

WHERE   MARK  TWAIN   GOT  HIS  STORIES 

EDWIN   T.   BREWSTER 

Mark  Twain's  real  name  was  Samuel  L.  Clemens. 
He  was  born  in  Missouri,  and  brought  up  in  the  little 
town  of  Hannibal  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Mississippi. 


Copyright  by  Underwood  &  Underwood 

Mark  Twain 

In  his  later  years  the  great  humorist's  favorite  attitude  when 

writing  or  dictating  was  propped  against  his  pillows 

in  a  roomy,  comjortable  bed 


15 


229 


230  .4   Vocational  Reader 

But  we  shall  best  hear  about  his  "call"  in  his 
own  words, 

"When  I  was  a  boy,  there  was  but  one  permanent 
ambition  among  my  comrades  in  our  village.  That 
was  to  be  a  steamboat  man.  We  had  transient 
ambitions  of  other  sorts,  but  they  were  only  tran- 
sient. When  a  circus  came  and  went,  it  left  us  all 
burning  to  become  clowns;  the  first  negro  minstrel 
show  that  ever  came  to  our  section  left  us  all  suffer- 
ing to  try  that  kind  of  life ;  now  and  then  we  had  a 
hope  that,  if  we  lived  and  were  good,  God  would 
permit  us  to  become  pirates.  These  ambitions 
faded  out,  each  in  its  turn,  but  the  ambition  to 
be  a  steamboat  man  always  remained. 

' '  I  first  wanted  to  be  a  cabin  boy,  so  that  I  could 
come  out  with  a  white  apron  on  and  shake  a  table- 
cloth over  the  side,  where  all  my  old  comrades  could 
see  me;  later  I  thought  I  would  rather  be  the  deck 
hand  who  stood  on  the  end  of  the  stage  plank  with 
the  coil  of  rope  in  his  hand.  But  these  were  only 
day-dreams — they  were  too  heavenly. 

"By  and  by  one  of  our  boys  went  away.  He  was 
not  heard  of  for  a  long  time.  At  last  he  turned  up 
as  apprentice  engineer  or  'striker'  on  a  steamboat. 
He  was  exalted  to  this  eminence,  and  I  left  in 
obscurity  and  misery. 

"There  was  nothing  generous  about  this  fellow 
in  his  greatness.  He  would  always  manage  to  have 
a  rusty  bolt  to  scrub  while  his  boat  tarried  at  our 
town,  and  he  would  sit  on  the  inside  of  the  guard 
and  scrub  it,  where  we  could  all  see  him  and  envy 


Where  Mark  Twain  Got  His  Stories  231 

him  and  loathe  him.  And  whenever  his  boat  was 
laid  up,  he  would  come  home  and  swell  round  the 
town  in  his  blackest  and  greasiest  clothes,  so  that 
nobody  could  help  remembering  that  he  was  a 
steamboat  man;  and  he  used  all  sorts  of  steamboat 
technicalities  in  his  talk,  as  if  he  were  so  used  to 
them  that  he  forgot  that  common  people  could  not 
understand  them.  He  would  speak  of  the  'lab- 
board'  side  of  a  horse  in  an  easy,  natural  way  that 
would  make  one  wish  he  was  dead;  and  he  was 
always  talking;. about  'St.  Looy'  like  an  old  citizen. 

"This  fellow  had  money,  too.  Also  an  ignorant 
silver  watch  and  a  brass  watchchain.  He  wore  a 
leather  belt  and  used  no  suspenders.  If  ever  a 
youth  was  heartily  admired  and  hated  by  his  com- 
rades, this  one  was.  When  his  boat  blew  up  at  last, 
it  diffused  a  tranquil  contentment  among  us  such 
as  we  had  not  known  for  months. 

"But  when  he  came  home  the  next  week,  alive, 
renowned,  and  appeared  in  church  all  battered  up 
and  bandaged,  a  shining  hero,  stared  at  and  wondered 
over  by  everybody,  it  seemed  to  us  that  the  partiality 
of  Providence  for  an  undeserving  reptile  had  reached 
a  point  where  it  was  open  to  criticism. 

"This  creature's  career  could  produce  but  one 
result,  and  it  speedily  followed.  Boy  after  boy 
managed  to  get  on  the  river.  The  minister's  son 
became  an  engineer.  The  doctor's  and  the  post- 
master's sons  became  'mud  clerks';  four  sons  of 
the  chief  merchant  and  two  sons  of  the  county 
judge    became    pilots.     Pilot    was    the    grandest 


2^2  A  Vocational  Reader 

position  of  all.  The  pilot,  even  in  those  days  of 
trivial  wages,  had  a  princely  salary — and  no  board 
to  pay.  Two  months  of  his  wages  would  pay  a 
preacher's  salary  for  a  year.  Now  some  of  us  were 
left  disconsolate.  We  could  not  get  on  the  river — 
at  least,  our  parents  would  not  let  us." 

When  he  was  twenty-one,  Clemens  also  took  to 
the  river.  He  paid  an  older  pilot  five  hundred 
dollars  to  teach  him,  and  in  eighteen  months  he 
knew  every  snag  and  bank  and  dead  tree  and  reef  be- 
tween St.  Louis  and  New  Orleans,  every  current  and 
cut-off  and  depth  of  water,  till  he  could  find  his  way 
anywhere  in  the  blackest  night.  At  twenty-three, 
when  most  boys  are  finishing  college,  he  was  one  of 
the  best  pilots  on  the  river  and  was  receiving  the  same 
salary  as  the  Vice-President  of  the  United  States. 

Then  came  the  Civil  War  and  closed  the  river. 
Clemens  himself  piloted  the  last  boat  through — and 
found  himself  without  a  job. 

He  tried  soldiering.  Then  he  went  to  California, 
where  he  looked  for  gold,  and  did  not  find  it.  Then 
he  tried  his  hand  at  all  sorts  of  occupations.  Among 
other  things  he  "screened  tailings"  with  a  long 
shovel,  at  ten  dollars  a  week. 

Samuel  Clemens'  second  "call"  came  when  he  was 
twenty-seven.  As  a  boy,  he  had  played  about  the 
little  village  printing  office  which  his  older  brother 
owned,  and  had  gradually  picked  up  the  printing 
trade.  His  brother,  in  addition,  printed  a  small 
paper.  Sam  used  to  gather  news  for  this,  and  some- 
times he  had  even  tried  writing  articles.    All  through 


Where  Mark  Twain  Got  His  Stories 


233 


■Miniaai  i'li'!,' ;  u  iWlli!-  ••' 


Photograph  by  Eugeu^-  J.  Hall 

To  act  as  pilot  on  a  boat  like  this  was  the  goal  of  Mark  Ttvaift's 

youthfid  ambition 

his  steamboat  days,  also,  he  had  kept  up  his  writing 
practice  whenever  he  had  a  httle  time,  and  he  had 
besides  been  studying  as  he  could. 

On  the  strength  of  this  early  experience,  and  of 
some  letters  to  the  California  and  Nevada  papers 
which  he  wrote  from  the  mines,  Clemens  at  last  got 
an  offer  to  report  for  the  Virginia  City  Enterprise. 
"Necessity,"  he  said,  "is  the  mother  of  taking 
chances."  He  footed  it  in  from  the  wilderness,  and 
appeared  at  the  newspaper  office  in  a  blue  flannel 
shirt,  a  roll  of  blankets  on  his  back,  trousers  stuffed 
into  his  boot  tops,  beard  down  to  his  waist,  and  the 
inevitable  navy  revolver  at  his  belt. 


234  -^  Vocational  Reader 

Slowly,  with  many  ups  and  downs,  Clemens  made 
his  way  at  newspaper  work.  In  fact,  he  did  so  well, 
discovered  so  much  news  and  told  it  so  fearlessly, 
that  various  prominent  rascals  found  him  very  much 
in  the  way. 

As  a  result  of  this,  during  the  winter  he  was  thirty, 
he  found  it  prudent  to  disappear  for  a  time,  and 
went  off  into  the  mountains  with  one  old  Californian, 
"pocket-mining."  He  found  no  gold;  but  he  did 
find  much  more  —  The  Jumping  Frog  of  Calaveras 
County. 

An  old  river  pilot  named  Ben  Coon  told  it  to 
him — a  slow-witted,  sleepy  old  person  who  droned 
out  pointless  tales  by  the  hour.  Clemens,  with 
his  reporter's  "nose  for  news,"  wrote  out  the  yarn 
and  sent  it  in  to  his  paper. 

The  Californians  thought  it  was  the  funniest 
thing  they  had  ever  heard.  The  New  York  papers 
copied  the  story.  The  Easterners  thought  it  the 
funniest  story  they  had  ever  heard.  From  a  news- 
paper reporter,  Clemens  had  become  a  story  writer. 

This  was  his  third  "call"  —  to  his  real  life  work. 
By  the  time  he  reached  middle  life  he  found  himself 
the  most  widely  known  and  the  most  read  of  all 
American  men  of  letters.  For  a  pen  name  he  took 
"Mark  Twain,"  the  Mississippi  steamboat  man's 
word  for  two  fathoms  of  water  on  the  sounding  line, 
and  as  "Mark  Twain"  he  has  already  been  read 
by  two  generations. 

He  made  his  stories  out  oi  his  own  life.  His 
boyhood    in    the    little    Missouri    town    went    into 


Where  Mark  Twain  Got  His  Stories 


235 


Copyright  by  Underwood  &  Undt-rwood 

The  great  humorist  standing  in  the  private  roadway  at  his 
summer  home,  Tuxedo  Park,  N.  Y. 

Tom  Sawyer  and  Huckleberry  Finn.  "Tom"  is 
really  Sam  himself.  "Sid"  is  his  brother  Henry, 
and  "Aunt  Polly"  is  his  mother.  "Huck  Finn's" 
real  name  was  Blankenship.  "Becky  Thatcher's" 
parents  named  her  Laura  Hawkins.  There  really 
was  a  "Nigger  Jim."     In  short,  things  actually  did 


236  A  Vocational  Reader 

happen  very  much  as  they  are  told  in  two  of  the  best 
boy's  stories  that  were  ever  written.  There  was 
even  a  real   "Indian  Jo." 

The  incidents  of  the  river  life  went  to  make 
Life  on  the  Mississippi.  The  California  experiences 
appear  in  Roughing  It.  The  first  trip  to  Europe 
made  The  Innocents  Abroad. 

All  the  time  that  Clemens  was  trying  his  hand  at 
typesetting,  piloting,  mining,  reporting,  and  shovel- 
ing dirt,  he  was  studying  people  and  finding  some- 
thing to  write  about.  As  he  himself  said :  "In  that 
sharp  schooling  I  got  personally  and  familiarly 
acquainted  with  all  the  different  types  of  human 
nature  that  are  to  be  found  in  history,  biography, 
or  fiction.  When  I  find  a  well-drawn  character,  I 
generally  take  a  warm  personal  interest  in  him — I 
have  known  him  before." 

Twenty-four  volumes  it  took  for  Mark  Twain  to 
sum  up  the  experiences  of  his  life.  Whoso  has  not 
read  most  of  these  had  better  begin  forthwith! 


CONCLUSION 


THE   FLAG   MAKERS 

FRANKLIN    K.    LANE 

This  morning,  as  I  passed  into  the  Land  Office, 
the  flag  dropped  me  a  most  cordial  salutation,  and 
from  its  rippling  folds  I  heard  it  say :  ' '  Good  morning, 
Mr.  Flagmaker." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Old  Glory,"  I  said,  "you  are 
mistaken.  I  am  not  the  President  of  the  United 
States,  nor  the  Vice-President,  nor  a  member  of 
Congress,  nor  even  a  general  in  the  army.  I  am 
only  a  government  clerk." 

"I  greet  you  again,  Mr.  Flagmaker,"  replied  the 
gay  voice.  "I  know  you  well.  You  are  the  man 
who  worked  in  the  swelter  of  yesterday  straight- 
ening out  the  tangle  of  that  farmer's  homestead  in 
Idaho." 

"No,  I  am  not,"  I  was  forced  to  confess. 

"Well,  then,  perhaps  you  are  the  one  who  dis- 
covered the  mistake  in  that  Indian  contract  in 
Oklahoma?" 

"No,  wrong  again,"  I  said. 

"Well,  you  helped  to  clear  that  patent  for  the 
hopeful  inventor  in  New  York,  or  pushed  the  open- 
ing of  that  new  ditch  in  Colorado,  or  made  that  mine 
in  Illinois  more  safe,  or  brought  relief  to  the  old 
soldier  in  Wyoming.  No  matter,  whichever  one  of 
these  beneficent  individuals  you  may  happen  to  be, 
I  give  you  greeting,  Mr.  Flagmaker." 

239 


240 


A  Vocational  Reader 


Courteay  of  liu.slun  ]Ui;ild 

This  living  flag,  formed  on   the   Common   by  school  children  of 

Boston,  aptly   illustrates    the   thought    that    on    the   acts 

and    aspirations    of   each    and   every   American 

depends  the  unsullied  brightness  of  the  flag 

I  was  about  to  pass  on,  feeling  that  I  was  being 
mocked,  when  the  flag  stopped  me  with  these  words : 

"You  know,  the  world  knows,  that  yesterday 
the  President  spoke  a  word  that  made  happier  the 
future  of  ten  million  peons  in  Mexico,  but  that  act 
looms  no  larger  on  the  flag  than  the  struggle  which 
the  boy  in  Georgia  is  making  to  win  the  corn-club 
prize  this  summer.  Yesterday  Congress  spoke  a 
word  w^hich  will  open  the  door  of  Alaska,  but  a 
mother  in  Michigan  worked  from  sunrise  until  far 
into  the  night  to  give  her  boy  an  education. 
She,  too,  is  making  the  flag.  Yesterday  we  made 
a  new  law  to  prevent  financial  panics;  yesterday, 
no  doubt,  a  school  teacher  in  Ohio  taught  his  first 
letters  to  a  boy  who  will  write  a  song  that  will  give 
cheer  to  the  millions  of  our  race.  We  are  all 
making  the  flag." 


The  Flag  Makers  241 

"But,"  I  said,  "these  people  were  only  working." 
Then  came  a  great  shout  from  the  flag : 
"Let  me  tell  you  who  I  am.  The  work  that  we 
do  is  the  making  of  the  real  flag.  I  am  not  the  flag, 
not  at  all.  I  am  but  its  shadow.  I  am  whatever 
you  make  me,  nothing  more.  I  am  your  belief  in 
yourself,  your  dream  of  what  a  people  may  become. 
I  live  a  changing  life,  a  life  of  moods  and  passions, 
of  heartbreaks  and  tired  muscles.  Sometimes  I  am 
strong  with  pride,  when  men  do  an  honest  work, 
fitting  the  rails  together  truly.  Sometimes  I  droop, 
for  then  purpose  has  gone  from  me,  and  cynically 
I  play  the  coward.  Sometimes  I  am  loud,  garish, 
and  full  of  that  ego  that  blasts  judgment.  But 
always  I  am  all  that  you  hope  to  be  and  have  the 
courage  to  try  for.  I  am  song  and  fear,  struggle  and 
panic,  and  ennobling  hope.  I  am  the  day's  work  of 
the  weakest  man  and  the  largest  dream  of  the  most 
daring.  I  am  the  Constitution  and  the  courts, 
statutes  and  statute  makers,  soldier  and  dread- 
naught,  drayman  and  street  sweep,  cook,  counselor, 
and  clerk.  I  am  the  battle  of  yesterday  and  the 
mistake  of  to-morrow.  I  am  the  mystery  of  the 
men  who  do  without  knowing  why.  I  am  the  clutch 
of  an  idea  and  the  reasoned  purpose  of  resolution. 
I  am  no  more  than  what  you  believe  me  to  be,  and 
I  am  all  that  you  believe  I  can  be.  I  am  what  you 
make  me,  nothing  more.  I  swing  before  your  eyes 
as  a  bright  gleam  of  color,  a  symbol  of  yourself,  the 
pictured  suggestion  of  that  big  thing  which  makes 
this    nation.     My   stars    and    my   stripes  are  your 


242  ^4   Vocational  Reader 

dreams  and  your  labors.  They  are  bright  with 
cheer,  brilHant  with  courage,  firm  with  faith,  be- 
cause you  have  made  them  so  out  of  your  hearts, 
for  you  are  the  makers  of  the  flag,  and  it  is  well 
that  you  glory  in  the  making." 

BUSINESS 

SAM    WALTER    FOSS 

"How  is  business?"   asks  the  young  man   of   the 
Spirit  of  the  Years; 
"Tell  me  of  the  modern  output  from  the  factories 
of  fate, 
And  what  jobs  are  waiting  for  me,  waiting  for  me 
and  my  peers. 
What's  the  outlook?     What's  the  prospect?     Are 
the  wages  small  or  great?" 
"Business   growing,    more  men  needed,"   says  the 
Spirit  of  the  Years, 
"Jobs  are  waiting  for  right  workmen, —  and  I  hope 
you  are  the  men, — 
Grand  hard  work  and  ample  wages,  work  piled  up 
in  great  arrears — 
'Don't  see  any  job  particular?'     Listen,  and  I'll 
tell  you  then. 

"There   are   commonwealths   to   govern,    there  are 

senates  to  be  swayed, 
There  are  new  States  still  undreamed  of  to  be 

founded, 
New  empires  in  far  oceans  to  be  moulded — who's 

afraid  ? — 


Business  243 

And  a  couple  of  polar  oceans  to  be  sounded. 
Come,   ye  jolly  empire-builders,   here  is  work  for 
you  to  do. 
And  we  don't  propose  to  get  along  without  it. 
Here's  the  little  job  of  building  the  old  planet  over 
new, 
And  it's  time  to  do  the  business.     Get  about  it. 

' '  Sow  the  lonely  plains  with  cities ;  thread  the  flower- 
less  land  with  streams; 
Go  to  thinking  thoughts  unthought-of,  following 
where*  your  genius  leads. 
Seeing  visions,  hearing  voices,  following  stars,  and 
dreaming  dreams, 
And  then  bid  your  dreams  and  visions  bloom  and 
flower  into  deeds. 
"'Business     rushing?'     Fairly     lively.     There's     a 
world  to  clean  and  sweep, 
Cluttered  up  with  wars  and   armies;    'tis   your 
work  to  brush  'em  out; 
Bid  the  fierce  clinch-fisted  nations  clasp  their  hands 
across  the  deep; 
Wipe  the  tired  world  of  armies;  't  is  a  fair  day's 
work,  no  doubt. 

"  'What's  your  business?'     Finding  out  things  that 
no  man  could  find, — 
Things  concealed  by  jealous  Nature  under  locks, 
behind  the  bars; 

Building  paved  and  guttered  highways  for  the  on- 
ward march  of  mind 


244  -^  Vocational  Reader 

Through   the   spaces    'twixt   the   planets   to   the 
secrets  of  the  stars. 
'What 's  your  business? '     Think  Hke  Plato, — he  did 
not  exhaust  all  thought; 
Preach  like  old  Savonarola;  rule  like  Alfred;  do 
not  shirk; 
Paint  like  Raphael  and  Titian;  build  like  Angelo — 
why  not? 
Sing  like  Shakespeare.    '  How  is  business  ? '    Rather 
lively.     Get  to  work!" 

—  Courtesy  of  Lothrop,  Lee  &  Shepard  Co. 


Tills  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


•^"Pf^ 


0€T  1 


6  1948 


Fjmu  L-9-35m-8,'28 


1127     Pressey, 


G4P9     A  vocational 
reader • 


L  007  617  556  1 


2 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  357  472 


Ui^rvi^r. 


>  :    '     I      « 


,i    »    H  J^11<'U1U11* 


Li;S  ANGELES 


